


Flying With Broken Wings

by Snowy38



Category: Harry Styles - Fandom, Larry Stylinson - Fandom, Louis Tomlinson - Fandom, One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ballet Dancer Harry, Boarding School, Bullying, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Hurt Harry, Ice Hockey player Louis, Ice Skating, Living Together, M/M, Sexual Harrassment, Student Hary, Tongue Piercing, Top Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-09
Updated: 2017-08-12
Packaged: 2018-11-29 23:40:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 35,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11451483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snowy38/pseuds/Snowy38
Summary: "So, Harry," Louis finally pipes up when the others have bundled into the toilets in a heady charge.Harry squeezes his bun with a gentle hand, still sipping his tea with his knees bent up in front of him."So," he echoes."What do you do?"Louis looks tired, but not in the same way Harry feels tired. His eyes are a bit squinty and blood-shot and he's blinking frequently, flicking his fringe away from his eye. He's sprawled in his chair rather than curled like Harry is."I'm a ballet dancer," he offers. "In my last year of ballet school."Louis leans up to fetch his coffee, taking a sip and wincing. His voice is huskier when he speaks again."Fuck, that sounds like hard work."Harry nods."It is."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all
> 
> I would just like to say that this story is completely fabricated and I do not have any knowledge of dance or the Royal School of Ballet. The bullying in the story is by Harry's teacher. The team that Louis plays for is a real team but used for mention only.
> 
> Hope you like it.
> 
> Ang

 

He curls his feet in, hard. The arches ache, barely relieved by the stretch. He presses his toenail into the ground to accentuate the curve. Better. He flattens his foot and repeats the action on the other side, hopping foot to foot to test the bounce.

 

He's not old, only nineteen and still innocent in many ways. His life has been controlled and guarded, but for good reason. He's a dancer and he has to focus, he can't lose that focus or he'll never make it.

 

He's been told that so many times it feels like it's branded on his skin.

 

And yet his heart aches. His soul feels empty.

 

Yes, dance is his passion and his life but he's tired. His body feels heavy and broken. It feels weak.

 

Tonight he's in the group ensemble for The Royal Ballet recital of Giselle and he needs to be ready.

 

He needs to be perfect.

 

//

 

"Hey! Over there!" Louis grinds his skates against the ice, pointing with his glove to the left side of the goal where Stanley is figure-of-eighting while he waits for a shot to hit on goal.

 

Louis' the defender who holds back the opposition while his team work the puck back and forth, slapping against sticks loudly with a satisfying sound he'll never get tired of.

 

"Shoot!" He yells as the goalie veers right and Niall passes the puck to Stan at just the right second.

 

Stan slips the puck past the goalie's feet and over the line; a loud honk sounding to verify the goal.

 

"Yes!" He lifts his arms; hockey stick in one hand as he skates over to celebrate; his smile as wide as his face.

 

He loves the game, he loves his life and tonight they'll go out and celebrate their victory.

 

//

 

Harry is out.

 

Out of bed; where he'd rather be, still sleeping, out of school and out of sorts, pretty much.

 

He never goes out, it's easier to stay inside and hide from the world.

 

But he can't face anyone at school today. His back gave way at a crucial moment last night and he's still sore, still so incredibly exhausted but the idea is that the fresh air will rejuvenate him, give him a spring in his heavy step.

 

The sun feels like it's blinding him despite the fact that it's winter and not that strong. His skin feels pale and stretched across his bones, his lips feel numb. He didn't cry about fucking up spectacularly, there was no point.

 

His ballet teacher will only zero in on his weakness.

 

So he has to try and make himself strong again and that starts from the mind, not the body.

 

The coffee shop is quiet. It's Sunday and it's still early by anyone's standards, let alone the fact that most people don't leave bed before ten on a Sunday since the surrounding area is monopolised by students mostly.

 

"Green tea, please," he orders in a low, thick voice as he leans back to look over the counter.

 

He selects a sandwich for toasting and asks for a cake, too. He's not meant to have sugar and carbs like this. His diet is strict for a reason. If Madame Hillier knew he was here, he'd have his ear chewed off but he doesn't care.

 

Falling on stage is the worst feeling in the world and now he's injured so he's out of the squad until his back has recovered. It feels like a long road to walk down even though the physio said it would only be two weeks.

 

"Oi oi!" A loud, northern accent interrupts his melancholy and he only has a moment to turn his head to look at the door before something- some _one_ \- is crashing into him, all giggly and small. "Oops! Sorry, mate..."

 

Harry frowns and steps back to shuffle his feet awkwardly.

 

"S'ok," he manages a lip-press as his eyes dance over the shorter brunette; swamped by about five other guys of varying height and weight.

 

"We're still drunk," the guy smiles, lifting his face as his friend takes ownership.

 

"Ignore Tommo," he says- a blonde guy with an Irish accent. "He's always a bit mad."

 

Harry's brows lift because actually-he wants to be a bit mad too. How does one get to be a bit mad? It looks like fun and he hasn't had fun in too long.

 

"Looks like you've had a fun night," he says.

 

The brunette has lovely blue eyes, Harry notices. He also has sharp cheekbones and a stubbled jaw. His hair is a messy sweep across his head and his eye-lashes are so thick he almost looks like a girl.

 

"Fun's the word," the guy smirks. "Louis, by the way," he sticks his hand out for Harry to shake.

 

"Harry," he replies more soberly, collecting his drink.

 

"Why don't you sit with us," Irish says. "I'm Niall," he adds with another handshake for Harry to take part in.

 

Louis elbows him.

 

"He might want to be left alone, Ni. Ever think of that?"

 

Harry's eyes flick between them.

 

"Alone is the last thing I want to be," he states honestly.

 

Niall grins, elbowing Louis back.

 

"See? Told ya...come on then, giant," Niall loops an arm through Harry's and turns them towards the tables. "Where shall we sit?"

 

//

 

Harry curls his tongue around itself, the ball-stud speared through it offering lone comfort to him.

 

His eyes flick around the circle of guys; all of whom are apparently part of a hockey team. All of whom apparently, are athletic and strong.

 

He's strong too but in a completely different way but he doesn't want to talk about himself. He just wants to absorb the atmosphere, the energy and the passion that these guys exude.

 

He doesn't realise straight away that he's being watched. That a singular pair of eyes are rested upon him curiously.

 

"So, Harry," Louis finally pipes up when the others have bundled into the toilets in a heady charge.

 

Harry squeezes his bun with a gentle hand, still sipping his tea with his knees bent up in front of him.

 

"So," he echoes.

 

"What do you do?"

 

Louis looks tired, but not in the same way Harry _feels_ tired. His eyes are a bit squinty and blood-shot and he's blinking frequently, flicking his fringe away from his eye. He's sprawled in his chair rather than curled like Harry is.

 

"I'm a ballet dancer," he offers. "In my last year of ballet school."

 

Louis leans up to fetch his coffee, taking a sip and wincing. His voice is huskier when he speaks again.

 

"Fuck, that sounds like hard work."

 

Harry nods.

 

"It is."

 

Louis tilts his head, eyes still raking Harry's face. If Harry was more aware, maybe he'd think Louis was interested. Maybe he'd let himself consider for one second the possibility of dating somebody; of breaking his routine and allowing someone inside his neatly ordered life. Harry is not aware.

 

"Is everything alright, then?" Louis asks.

 

Harry's eyes dart to him, lips pursing in affrontation. He's so transparent; he hasn't learned to hide how he feels or what's on his mind. He frowns, feet slipping to the floor.

 

"I fucked up," he admits with a rueful smirk. "Not the favoured child right now."

 

Louis leans forward; seemingly aware of Harry's sudden desire to bolt.

 

"Don't go yet," Louis says. "Finish your tea. I won't ask if you don't want to talk about it."

 

Harry pouts at his drink, a sigh escaping his lips.

 

"Truth is, I shouldn't even be here. I should go."

 

Louis looks agitated as Harry stands, pushing his cake towards the smaller man.

 

"Here, you have this."

 

"Come to a game," Louis blurts. "We play every Saturday night. It's always good fun."

 

Harry stands, hesitating, lip tucked under teeth.

 

"Maybe," he murmurs, because he truly doesn't know if he can. He has two weeks of rest and physio but-

 

Why start something he can't finish?

 

Louis swallows, eyes wide now, the sleepiness evaporated from moments before.

 

"Take care, Harry."

 

Harry nods and offers a sad smile before he turns to lope out of the cafe.

 

//

 

The dressing room is the usual pit of chaos at first period break. Louis' blasting his gloves with the hairdryer and the place stinks of sweat already.

 

"Horan, fucking hell," he yelps as Niall catapults a wet sock into his face.

 

"Where's Harry then?"

 

Louis frowns.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"I heard ya inviting him along," Niall smirks.

 

Louis swallows. He hadn't realised his friends had come out of the bathroom before Harry had left.

 

Louis shrugs.

 

"Guess he didn't want to come."

 

"Seen you trying to impress someone out there," he winks, shoving Louis' shoulder gently.

 

Louis rolls his eyes.

 

"It's called playing hockey."

 

"Four shots on goal and one assist?" Niall derides. "You're a D-man not a forward..."

 

"He's a fucking D-man for sure!" Stanley bellows followed by a cackle.

 

Louis rolls his eyes at the teasing.

 

"Ha-bloody-ha."

 

"When was the last time you _got_ the big D?" Stanley raises a brow.

 

Louis feels the flush creep up his neck and hopes the sweaty heat of his skin disguises it.

 

"Who's to say I'm not the one _giving_ the D?" Louis quips back.

 

There's raucous laughter and Louis might feel mildly offended if he didn't know these guys better. Luckily for him, he does. And they know him, too.

 

"Whatever you say, Princess," George scuffs his hair affectionately as he hobbles past.

 

Louis lets his smile burgeon into a grin.

 

//

 

The bench seats play havoc with his back.

 

His muscles are twinging and on the edge of protesting loudly when a burst of chatter echoes around the changing room exit.

 

He hears Louis' voice first.

 

"Why're the lights still on?" He hears him ask and a steward points to the benches where Harry's sat.

 

"Fan wanted to meet you."

 

Louis' head appears around the stands; his feet pushing his body forward until he's at the bottom of the steps. Harry's sat about three rows up and he doesn't know where to look but his eyes seem to decide for him; fixing upon the small feisty man in front of him.

 

"You watched the game?" Louis asks, bemused.

 

Harry swallows.

 

"Yeah."

 

"You should have come and found me, I could have got you VIP seats..."

 

He shrugs.

 

"Thought I'd give my back something to think about."

 

"Your back?" Louis looks rightly confused. Harry hasn't told him yet.

 

He thinks how strange he must appear to other people, always lost halfway in aÂ  thought or idea.

 

"I've injured it," he offers quietly. "That's why I'm out of action."

 

Louis hitches his bag on his shoulder and it's bigger than he is; stick wedged haphazardly into it but poking out of the zip. Harry gets up and walks down the steps carefully, tucking his hair behind his ear.

 

"I know sports massage," Louis pipes up with an innocent face.

 

Harry's lips quirk of their own accord, aÂ  surprised smile flitting over his lips.

 

"Really?"

 

Louis catches the smile and smirks a bit.

 

"Absolutely."

 

Harry tilts his hip a bit to one side, a habit the Madame had trained him out of. His posture is strong and he's graceful. His muscle tone is the best it can be. And yet stood here, in front of this shaggy-haired guy, he feels strangely small and child-like.

 

Louis intimidates him on some level. Not in a menacing or superior way. Just because he's rather beautiful and Harry hasn't seen anyone else he thinks is beautiful in quite a while. The guys at the school are all tall, lean and muscular and then there's Louis. Little, strong and all sharp cheekbones.

 

Harry knows better than to let himself get any ideas about this. He's already been warned. His back injury is due to not paying the correct attention to the routine, it's due to not being committed enough in his studies and training.

 

A bitter taste fills his mouth as he remembers Madame's words, fresh truth about how much better he can do. And yet he feels he's giving _everything_. he feels there's not much more he can give without breaking. He wonders in fact if he actually _is_ broken; if his back is a symbol of his soul.

 

"Can I get a lift with you?" He finally asks, since Louis is apparently waiting for him to speak and his mention of massage was a silent invitation of sorts.

 

Louis' eyes flick over him and he shifts awkwardly. He wonders what Louis makes of his outfit. Black skinny jeans, brown suede boots, a thick jumper in grey and his heavy tan suede jacket thrown over the lot.

 

Louis' lips twist as their eyes meet; his sparkling mischievously.

 

"I usually get a bit of food first," Louis comments. "If you don't mind."

 

Harry lets out a breath of relief. He doesn't need to feel awkward here. Louis seems like a nice guy, one who cares enough to invite him for food before he takes him home. Harry's not even sure what he was hoping to achieve by coming here but-

 

"See ya later, Louis!" Niall comes up behind him to squeeze him into a hug. "Oh, Harry!" He adds with a knowing kind of smile. "Didn't see you in the crowd tonight?"

 

"I was here," Harry assures. "Congratulations on your three goals."

 

Niall smirks.

 

"Guess Louis' taking you home, then?"

 

Louis elbows his friend and tells him to _'fuck off'_. Niall fucks off.

 

Harry eyes Louis' huge bag.

 

"Want me to carry your stuff out to your car?"

 

Louis makes an offended face.

 

"You're the one with the back injury, Harold. I can manage fine."

 

Harry follows Louis out to the car park.

 

//

 

He's jigging his knee. It's a nervous thing and it's dark outside so although he's pretending to be avidly interested in the scenery the truth is, he can't see a thing.

 

"Do you haveÂ  a curfew?" Louis asks.

 

Harry looks over. How did he know that?

 

"How did you know?"

 

"Because you're nervous and I'm pretty sure it's not because of me," he muses.

 

Harry averts his gaze.

 

"They lock the halls of residence up at midnight."

 

It's nearly ten and they haven't reached Louis' take away destination yet.

 

"There's no way in after midnight?" Louis checks, surprised. "What if you get lost or hurt or-"

 

"We're not meant to leave."

 

It sounds a bit sordid. It _definitely_ sounds controlling. Harry opens his mouth to explain but Louis snorts.

 

"Sounds like a proper riot...."

 

Harry looks back out into the dark.

 

"Do you like Chinese?" Louis asks.

 

Harry presses his lips together.

 

"Never tried it."

 

"You're about to have a religious experience," Louis relays proudly.

 

//

 

They've exchanged surnames. Louis has taken to calling Harry by his as some sort of nick-name. Harry had wondered where they'd go after collecting their food; not wanting to sit on one of the small, sticky tables in the Chinese take-away but instead sitting in the car, licking up greasy food from long fingers.

 

Louis had pulled up right outside the Uni gates so he could run in before curfew.

 

"Are you really not allowed out?" Louis asks.

 

Harry's eyes shift sideways until they reach the other man's. He watches the way Louis licks his greasy lips and smirks.

 

"I can find a way if I want to."

 

"Do you want to?" Is Louis' next question.

 

The answer falls off his tongue before his brain even engages.

 

"Yes."

 

"I'm twenty-two, is that too old?" Louis asks.

 

Harry smiles. "Too old for what?"

 

Louis smiles too.

 

"Playing hard to get I see," he remarks. "Best get my A-game on."

 

Harry frowns, eyes falling to his box of chow mein tucked in his lap.

 

"It's not a game."

 

"No, it's not," Louis echoes softly.

 

Harry looks over, eyes drawn to the sweep of Louis' lashes and the curve of his upper lip.

 

"I've got two weeks without full classes." He bites the stud in his tongue in an unconsciously nervous gesture and Louis' eyes fix there, intense and steady.

 

"You have a tongue stud? Is that allowed?"

 

Harry's lips twist into a defiant smile.

 

"Yep."

 

Louis laughs loudly, hand curling around the steering wheel.

 

"Day after tomorrow then?" He suggests, digging out his phone and handing it to Harry. "Put your number in and we can arrange a time."

 

Harry slowly types his number in, lifting the device to take a picture of himself, eyes closed and lips pointed into a kiss. He smirks as he hands it back to Louis.

 

"Until then."

 

//

 

"So do I get to see some of this ballet?"

 

It's Monday night and Harry had to wait till after dark to sneak out. Louis' practice finished at eight and he knows right now, with an exhilarating kind of butterfly sensation in his tummy, that he might not be going back to the dorms.

 

"Really?" Harry muses. "You want to see it?"

 

Louis rolls his eyes.

 

"You've seen me cutting up the ice it's only fair."

 

"Alright, I'll give you a demo in your living room, then," Harry muses.

 

"As long as it doesn't impede your recovery," Louis adds quickly.

 

Harry slides him a warm smile.

 

"You've got the healing hands, you can just give me a massage after."

 

Louis swallows and feels his cheeks heat. Harry gives out a throaty curling chuckle.

 

"Enough from you," Louis teases. "Let's order some food for when we get home."

 

Harry glances at him, amused by the second take-away to be consumed in as many days.

 

"You do realise I'm on a strict diet?"

 

"Pizza for me then," Louis decides. "Egg white omelette for you."

 

Harry finds himself smiling despite the unfamiliarity of the movement of his mouth. lately everything has been so serious he's forgotten how to smile.

 

"I'm glad you respect my dietary needs."

 

"I'll share my pizza if you change your mind," Louis adds softly after.

 

//

 

He's been doing a reduced routine each day, of course. A sort of stretching set with some moves that don't twist his spasming muscles.

 

Now that he's here in Louis' living room, he feels heinously self conscious.

 

They've eaten food; most of it junk except Harry's valiant attempt at staying healthy by ordering a grilled chicken sandwich. He even accepted a bottle of beer; and a second when offered. So he's loose, sort of.

 

He's self conscious of his tight jeans and yellow jumper and the way he looks like a three year old when he's wearing socks. He takes his socks off, bending down to do a basic stretch.

 

Louis' sat in the chair to one side and Harry wiggles his bum to make him laugh.

 

Louis doesn't laugh.

 

"Could get to like this ballet stuff," he says.

 

Harry straightens and tosses his hair away, shaking his head and stretching the black band from his wrist. Within a few seconds, his hair is tethered in a high bun. He lets out a shaky breath.

 

"Look, just remember I'm hurt, alright? So I'm a bit stiff and not as smooth as usual."

 

"Get on with it, love," Louis cajoles softly, sipping tea. He's forgone beer due to a heavy training session the following day.

 

Harry sets a song onto his phone. He takes position. And he starts.

 

_Just stop your crying Itâ€™s a sign of the times Welcome to the final show Hope youâ€™re wearing your best clothes You can't bribe the door on your way to the sky You look pretty good down here But you ain't really good._

It's the easiest thing in the world, pirouetting and stretching and going on tip-toe in absence of his shoes. He wants to tell Louis that he can do beautiful Pointe, that he's been through the pain of his toenails bleeding and his bones feeling like they might crunch together. Now is not the time and tip-toe seems to work because he hears Louis gasp when he twirls, arms poised and back arched, arabesque style.

 

That draws a twinge which he winces at, sweeping into a pique.

 

_If we never learn, we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets? The bullets We never learn, we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets? The bullets_

 

He slows his movements, concentrating on his arms and how his jeans feel trying to complete these movements which he usually performs in leggings, more flexible to his range. There's something about it, about the raw way he's displaying the learned positions he knows so well that makes it feel like his very first ballet recital; a combination of trying to remember it all while his expression blurts out to taint his technical perfection.

 

_Just stop your crying Itâ€™s a sign of the times We gotta get away from here We gotta get away from here Just stop your crying It will be alright They told me that the end is near We gotta get away from here_

Louis won't see that of course, he won't now whether Harry's jumps and plie's are accurate but the fact Harry's letting himself go, the fact he's allowing himself to be imperfect is something of a shock and he can't help the breathless feeling he gets as he pirouettes in the centre of the room.

 

_Just stop crying Have the time of your life Breaking through the atmosphere And things are pretty good from here Remember everything will be alright We can meet again somewhere Somewhere far away from here_

_If we never learn, we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets? The bullets We never learn, we been here before Why are we always stuck and running from The bullets? The bullets_

 

It's a strange feeling, falling from your pedestal and crashing to the ground and Harry's already done it once, in front of hundreds under a spotlight. He's already proven that he can't take the pace. But here, in Louis' living room, he likes the feeling it gives him to come undone, to unravel completely and let the ragged ends of his soul shake free.

 

_We donâ€™t talk enough We should open up Before itâ€™s all too much Will we ever learn? Weâ€™ve been here before Itâ€™s just what we know_

 

"Hey.... _hey._ "

 

He doesn't know what's happened until he looks up.

 

He's fallen. _Again_. And he's crying.

 

"Hey."

 

The voice is insistent, arms trying to help him up but he's sobbing hard now and he wants to curl up into somebody's arms for them to whisper to him that it'll be okay. It feels the farthest thing from okay right now.

 

"Come here."

 

He's pulled gently against Louis' chest as Louis settles on the floor and his back hurts because he's twisted but he doesn't care because someone has their arms around him and that must mean they care. That must mean that he's _worthy_.

 

All the words from Madame's lips contradict that feeling but it wins out, the comfort of being held outweighing his insecurity.

 

"Hey, it's okay..."

 

He feels fingers stroke down over his hair; onto his neck, soothing repetition against his skin.

 

"Are you hurt, Harry?"

 

He hiccups, chest wide open and secrets spilling out.

 

"Oh wow....Let it out there, champ," Louis soothes. "Cry it all out..."

 

Harry curls his knees towards his body, trying to make himself smaller and Louis' legs bend around him to accommodate; arms still solid and hand still rubbing circles on his back. It's ironic how much of a child-like gesture it is when Harry already feels three years old.

 

His face is low as he tries to pull away, wiping the wetness from his face onto his arm, knees pulling into his chest but they can't get close enough because Louis isn't letting go.

 

"Please," he whines, arms folded up by his chest and pushing out against Louis.

 

"Harry-"

 

Harry manages to free himself, pushing to shaky legs and bee-lining for the bathroom. He doesn't know where it is and almost walks into a cupboard but he forges on, shutting the door behind him to sink to the floor.

 

//

 

He can't look Louis in the eyes.

 

He's standing, rather petulantly, while Louis makes up his spare bedroom; arms folded and hip popped. Madame would have a fit if she saw.

 

His cheeks burn with a mixture of shame and a result of too many tears on his skin. His lashes feel damp and he still has a resounding sniffle.

 

Louis is being a perfect host which is in all honesty, a little surprising.

 

"There we go," he stands back from his messy bed-making to place his hands on his hips proudly. "Fresh bed."

 

"Thank you, Louis," he offers morbidly.

 

Louis comes close to him where he's leaned against the wall. A hand slides onto his waist.

 

"You don't need to feel embarrassed," Louis says. "There's obviously a story to this that you're not telling me and you don't need to for me to get it."

 

Harry's lips press together. His dimple pools.

 

Louis' hand rubs his side a bit.

 

"Just-it'll be okay. Whatever's happened."

 

"Not when I roll in at 8 o'clock and they know I've bunked dorms," he muses to himself.

 

"You're nineteen, not five," Louis says. "All teenagers need some freedom."

 

Harry pouts sadly.

 

"Not me."

 

There's a moment of silence and Harry thinks Louis might just go.

 

"Is your back ok?" He asks then, tentatively.

 

Harry had walked a bit stiffly on leaving the bathroom, finally having to face Louis despite his inner-most desire not to.

 

Harry swallows. His back is most definitely _not_ okay. He might have even undone the progress he had made prior to today but. It wasn't the routine he'd done for Louis that was the problem. The problem was in his heart; poisoning his mind.

 

"You looked incredible, by the way," Louis pushes on to Harry's sullen look. "You really blew me away."

 

"Thanks," Harry murmurs.

 

Louis' hand falls away from his side and Harry looks up, into concerned blue eyes.

 

"You be okay in here?"

 

Harry swallows. He'd be more okay if Louis stayed with him. He nods anyway.

 

"Right, I'm off to bed then. I'll give you a lift back to the school first thing."

 

Harry watches Louis leave the room and feels a heavy weight of dread fill his stomach.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's barefoot in his jeans and jumper when Louis wakes up the following morning, finding him busy making breakfast at the stove.

 

"What's all this?" He smiles at the table which has orange juice ready laid out with plates and tea-accompaniments.

 

"Breakfast." Harry replies. "To say thank you."

 

Louis sits down.

 

"You didn't have to."

 

"Wanted to," he calls over his shoulder, breaking eggs into a pan.

 

There's something under the grill keeping warm and he sees it's pancakes and bacon when Harry ferries it over with oven-mitted hands.

 

"Well, thank you," Louis swallows. "Could get used to this."

 

Harry's still tense, standing awkward and hunched over his eggs. Louis gets up, scraping his chair back so that Harry's aware of his intended approach. He stiffens as Louis gets closer.

 

"I'm sorry about last night," he murmurs.

 

Louis leans into his back.

 

"Where does it hurt?"

 

Harry's head turns, eyes flicking over Louis' face.

 

"What?"

 

"Your back. I can tell you're in pain..."

 

Harry sighs and sags a bit but then points behind him into the lower right side where the twinging is rife.

 

Louis grasps his waist gently.

 

"Is it ok?"

 

The question is incomplete. Harry knows he's asking if it's okay to touch him. He nods and stirs the eggs, turning the heat to minimum so they don't burn.

 

"Hmm let's see..."

 

Louis maps the area with gentle hands, holding his waist to steady him as he fists his hand and pushes his knuckles into the sore muscle. Harry's knees nearly give way.

 

"Steady," Louis grins and Harry hears it in his voice. He grips onto the counter beside the stove, stirring the eggs quickly before getting anchored.

 

Louis presses his knuckles back into his skin, hard enough to stimulate the painful area but not so hard as to hurt excessively. Harry lets out a choked kind of moan when Louis finds the real weak spot of his injury.

 

"Fuck, _there_ ," he rasps.

 

Louis clears his throat.

 

"Feels like this could be another situation entirely," Louis remarks lightly, working his thumbs into the muscle that's tightly knotted.

 

Harry huffs out a humoured laugh, smile lingering on his lips.

 

"Do I get to see you again?"

 

Harry thinks for a moment, reaching to turn off the eggs.

 

"Thought I might retreat into the dungeons and never venture out again," he muses.

 

Louis leans back, pushing his thumbs up over the painful area in Harry's back. He's making little hitched noises in his throat, bordering on whimpers and Louis wants to get those sounds out of him for altogether different reasons.

 

"At least come to the game," Louis encourages. "You can see me do my version of twirling on the ice."

 

Harry's lips pull into a dirty smirk.

 

"How can I turn that down?"

 

"You can't," Louis agrees, stepping away as Harry starts to sag into the counter. "We should eat before the food gets cold."

 

Harry looks around him as if he's confused. Maybe he is.

 

"Yeah," he says, none too convincingly. "Food."

 

Louis sits and lets Harry bring the eggs while he fills their plates with pancakes and bacon. Harry blinks at him with the tiniest smile.

 

"Thanks," he dishes out the eggs with a bitten lip.

 

"Thank _you_ ," Louis returns politely.

 

They eat in shared comfortable silence until Louis gets up to take Harry back to school.

 

//

 

"I thought we had only had this conversation a few days ago." Madame Hiller's voice has an edge that Harry knows only too well.

 

"I wasn't late to class. I just spent the night at my Dad's that's all."

 

Madame gets up from her desk and walks around it.

 

"Harry. You fell at the Royal Opera House. Not at one of your recitals or a practice or even your exam performance. But on _stage_. I don't need to remind you how humiliated we were."

 

Harry hangs his head, cheeks flushing. He swallows.

 

"No, I remember."

 

"And you're injured because of your own distraction. Your mind is elsewhere and clearly it has been for some time..."

 

"No, I told you-"

 

"The hours we have to put in to be world class," she huffs. "Do you have any idea?"

 

"I do. And I put in all the hours god gives me-"

 

"It's not enough, Harry. Wandering off-site and sleeping off-campus. It takes your mind away from the goal."

 

 _And what is the goal?_ His bitter mind pushes the question forth.

 

"We can replace you quite easily," Madame sweeps away from him with a brow arch. "There are young men willing to cut off their right arm to be here."

 

Harry looks up, a frown forming on his features.

 

"Hey, I work hard, too. I was top six before I fell. Anyone can get a strain, it's not fair to-"

 

"Not fair?" Madame laughs quietly, a look of disdain blanketing her features. "Nothing is fair in life, Harry. You have to hunger it. It has to be your sole consumption."

 

"That's not true," he argues more quietly, a sulky pout fixing on his lips and furrowing his brow. "We've always been told to find our passion and open our minds."

 

"Who told you that?"

 

"Director Hanson for one," Harry counts his technical dance tutor as one of his biggest influences.

 

"Director Hanson should know better than to encourage free-thinking," Madame snaps. "You should sleep, eat and breathe the ballet if you want to be the best."

 

Harry's gaze fixes on her, hard and unrelenting.

 

"And what makes you think I'm not?"

 

Madame lifts her chin, her gaze falling naturally down her nose-line.

 

"Was it not a man I saw you with this morning? Dropping you at the gate?"

 

"What?" Harry gapes.

 

"If you want dangerous liaisons, you need to think seriously about your career."

 

"Are you threatening me?" He asks, to be sure. Since the loud buzzing in his ears is overtaking rational thought.

 

"Just a suggestion," she breezes. "Best to keep your thoughts inside this building," she adds. "If you want the same opportunities as everybody else."

 

"And what if it was a _girl_ dropping me off this morning?" Harry stands from his seat, teeth clenching. He no longer feels like a child. "Would that make any difference to the kind of opportunities I'd be allowed?"

 

He doesn't wait for an answer, just turns and stalks out of the room.

 

//

 

He sits in VIP, wearing a jumper in the team colours- yellow and black. Louis plays for the Bracknell Bees and Harry's a bee.

 

It's a better view of the whole rink from up high but he misses the intimacy of being at ice-level. The sounds and the smells that come from being closer to the players.

 

Louis' a steady back-up in front of the goal tonight, pushing forward when the team get momentum to score. It's a tough game against their arch-rivals and he can see the players getting tired, watches the small mistakes and the puck slipping over the line into the net.

 

They lose by two goals and Harry waits anxiously in the VIP lounge, deciding to avoid the dressing room until Louis is ready to come out.

 

"Hey, you a fan?"

 

There's an American tilt to the voice. Harry stops pacing, hands shoved in pockets.

 

"Uh yeah. You?"

 

The man smiles, coming closer. He's tall and athletic and Harry guesses he's a player.

 

"I'm on the other team," the guy confirms his assumptions.

 

Harry lifts a brow.

 

"Good game," he offers politely.

 

The guy gets closer still.

 

"I'm Mark." He offers a hand.

 

Harry shakes it.

 

"Harry."

 

"Noticed you at period break," Mark says. "Cute smile."

 

Harry swallows down his instant rebuttal. _It wasn't for you_.

 

"Thanks."

 

Mark's eyes go over him. He's not used to guys being taller than him, he's one of the tallest in his dance class. He's not overly taken to muscular men, either, preferring slightly smaller, petite men usually.

 

It's not as though he has a wealth of experience because he started ballet at five and he's never looked back. Until now, of course. Until his whole life became a game of catching the unravelling ends of his sanity.

 

"Wanna hang out?"

 

Harry's gaze returns to Mark. He flicks his eyes over his shoulder to where movement is occurring beyond them both. Louis steps into the room looking small and tired. He pauses on seeing Harry talking to another guy; crowded close and almost intimate.

 

"Uh, I have a date," Harry flicks a finger to Louis, even though the shorter man can't hear him because he's hanging back, waiting for Harry to finish his conversation.

 

Harry can feel his eyes on him though, blue and intense.

 

Mark turns to check Louis over.

 

"You sure?" He asks, derisively.

 

Harry lifts his chin.

 

"I'm sure."

 

Louis is the one who let him fall. Somehow he gets the feeling that Mark wouldn't be as obliging.

 

"Alright, if that's your wish. Maybe next time," he adds before he turns away.

 

"Maybe never," Harry mutters under his breath, following Mark towards the door where Louis' hovering.

 

"Hey," Louis forces a smile.

 

Harry can tell because his eyes don't crinkle in the corners like they usually do.

 

"I'm sorry." He says.

 

Louis lifts a brow.

 

"What for?"

 

Harry swallows.

 

"For losing of course. What else?"

 

Louis lets out a breath then, a small smile creeping onto his lips.

 

"Truthfully, Harold, I thought you might have been flipping me off for another guy for a minute there."

 

Harry's brow furrows.

 

"I wouldn't do that."

 

Louis' gaze lifts from the floor, connecting with Harry's.

 

"Don't want you to feel obligated to hang out with me if you get a better offer."

 

The words are flippant but there's a weight to them; an underlying insecurity that he reads quite easily.

 

"I'll let you know if I get a better offer," is all he says.

 

Louis is still staring.

 

"Feisty little runt versus smooth demi-god," he muses. "Think you might have missed the memo."

 

Harry flexes his fingers, gaze dropping to Louis' mouth.

 

"No, I saw it. I just threw it away, that's all. Didn't interest me."

 

Louis' gaze is intent now, questioning and a little bit awed.

 

"What's the plan tonight, then? Are we following orders or flaunting the rules?"

 

He knows Louis is referring to his curfew. He's too ashamed to repeat the incident in Madame's office so he considers his options. Madame is already disappointed, another late night won't worsen that. She can't kick him out and while he's injured, she can't disadvantage him. She can save it for when he's back under the guise of not exhausting himself with a recovering injury but he's not sure he cares enough to cut short his night.

 

"Didn't you know? I've booked in for a weekend spa. Intense back injury physio. I've got medical sign off until Monday morning."

 

Louis smirks, lips pulling into a reluctant smile. When his eyes crinkle in the corners, Harry's stomach flops.

 

"I better actually give you some therapy then otherwise it'll sound like bullshit come Monday."

 

Harry bites his lip and brushes the back of his hand against Louis' as they fall into step.

 

//

 

It takes a small amount of alcohol and a short bout of disco-dancing to loosen Harry up.

 

Louis and his team-mates go to a club after their loss, Stan and Niall both friendly and welcoming to the new mascot in the form of Harry.

 

"So," Niall sits Harry on a stool and presses a beer into his hand.

 

"Thanks..."

 

"How many of these to get you dancing?" Niall asks.

 

Harry's eyes shine with amusement.

 

"Maybe two?"

 

"No showing off," Niall adds. "Louis told me you're a good dancer and I don't want you to hurt a hamstring."

 

"Of course," Harry smiles benignly.

 

These people are nothing like the dance crew. They do what they feel in their heart. Not what's best or what their head tells them to do or worse- what _someone_ _else_ tells them to do. Yes, they have unwritten rules on discipline so that they can put 100% into every game but they don't let that get in the way of taking what they need to overcome a defeat.

 

"Saw Marko chatting you up," Niall adds as Harry glugs his first beer.

 

Louis is in his eye line, leaning on a high table discussing the game with Stan. They're deep in it so Harry doesn't feel the need to interrupt.

 

"Yeah. Not my type," Harry lifts a brow.

 

Niall smiles knowingly.

 

"But Louis is."

 

Harry smiles too.

 

"Louis _is_."

 

"He's kinda small for a player," Niall shares then. "Had his run of tough luck getting a place on a roster. Until Boss saw him and he lit a fire under the rest of us. He's so fast and not afraid to make a play. He grinds them big guys into the plexi like a fucking steam-roller."

 

Harry nods with a dangerously proud smile.

 

"I saw."

 

He knows 'Boss' to be Gerry Malcolm, the team coach. He didn't join them on tonight's outing but he'd told Harry how valuable Louis' game was in conceding only two goals.

 

"He likes to talk everything through when we lose," Niall adds when Harry happily sags in his seat, sipping his drink and bopping along to the music.

 

"I'm the same when I flunk a dance routine," Harry offers.

 

"Oh, you're professional then?" Niall muses. "Thought maybe Tommo was bigging you up and you were just a strip-o-gram or something."

 

"I'm a student. Last year of ballet school."

 

"Ballet?" Niall makes a face, sloshing back his drink. "Can you skate?"

 

Harry shrugs.

 

"Never tried."

 

"Never tried? You could be a figure skater!"

 

Harry laughs, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

 

"I'm not allowed! If I fell and hurt myself-"

 

"Lou! Louis!" Niall storms over to the other table, leaving Harry to watch under amusement bright eyes.

 

Louis is pulled out of his conversation with Stan, eyes immediately flicking to Harry to check he's ok.

 

"What's up Irish?"

 

"Your guy...he's never been ice-skating." Niall states. "I assume you'll resolve this issue immediately."

 

Louis' eyes go from Niall back to Harry again, a few feet away.

 

"Does he want to?"

 

"He said something about not being allowed. I mean. Who's not allowed to fucking skate? I was born into mine..."

 

Louis pats Niall's shoulder and swaps places, wandering over to Harry.

 

"So, I'm to take you skating one day," he muses.

 

Harry shrugs, finishing his drink with an exaggerated lick of his lips.

 

"Might be nice."

 

Louis nods.

 

"Alright, we can arrange that. Probably when your back's better, though."

 

Harry hops off his stool.

 

"Then I'll be back in classes."

 

"I can sneak you out," Louis winks.

 

Harry smirks.

 

"Wanna dance?"

 

//

 

He's taken off his token jumper to leave just a plain black t-shirt with his jeans and boots. Louis put smart shoes on with his own tight jeans to get into the club; a band tee on his top half. They match inexplicably.

 

Harry dances silly when he's had beer, Louis notices. The grinning, uncoordinated movements are a million miles from the show he put on a few days ago and Louis can't help the way his body reacts to that memory, even though it's deeply wrong.

 

He shouldn't be getting turned on when Harry ended up in a heap of tears but his ballet is magical and sensuous so how is he supposed to stop?

 

Harry's close now, too, softly nudging into him as they bounce together; Louis' face turned upwards to seek out the dimpled smile of his dance-partner. Another guy tries to come in behind Harry and grind on him but Louis quickly shoves him out of the way and Harry curls into him that bit more with a happy smile.

 

"Thank you!"

 

"What for?" He bemuses.

 

Harry closes his other arm around Louis' shoulders and turns into him, knee slipping between both of Louis'. He's not swaying because he's not drunk but the energy of the other dancers means they're a bit off-balance.

 

Louis tightens both arms around his waist. Harry's gazing at him; long hair beautifully curly and a bit fluffy from their efforts. Louis focuses on his lips, watches Harry lick them and bite into his lower one as he focuses on Louis' face.

 

Harry leans down and Louis thinks it might be to kiss him, but his lips turn to the side, landing near his ear.

 

"Can we go home now?"

 

Louis waits until he pulls back so Harry can see him nod.

 

//

 

"Hmm..."

 

Harry's hands are already on him; crawling over his torso as he backs him up to the hall wall; the front door clanging heavily shut.

 

"Shit, the neighbours," Louis hisses, looking up like a startled deer in headlights as Harry cages him in.

 

"Never mind the neighbours. Will you just bloody kiss me?"

 

Louis cups his cheek and tiptoes the best he can.

 

"Who's the pretty ballerina now?" He murmurs, right before smirking and then he brushes their lips together softly.

 

Harry takes the invitation and kisses him back, slightly eager and a little rough at first but things soften when Louis runs the fingers of his other hand into Harry's hair. It earns him a throaty, subdued moan.

 

He can't concentrate, there's too much going on, Harry's lips on his, hands around his middle, thumbs seeking abrasion and finding it against his nipples. Harry's tongue is pushing against his and his tongue stud is the hottest thing in the world; hard against Louis' tongue and clacking his teeth.

 

"Lou," Harry groans deeply, knee pushing between Louis' thighs.

 

Louis gasps because he is the dominator, usually. He is the one that instigates things and takes charge and as hinted at in the dressing room, he is in fact the "top". Harry's manhandling of him though is setting fire to something inside of him that needs to release the heat and he's not sure there's a safe way out.

 

He pulls Harry's jumper and t-shirt off together; hands curving over his ass to squeeze there, causing Harry to grin at him, all dangerous glint in his eyes and dimples to soften the look.

 

"Yeah," Harry murmurs, grinding between Louis' parted thighs, repeating the action when Louis chokes on the sensation.

 

"But--"

 

Louis can't quite vocalise his thoughts, lips crashing into his to seek another sweet kiss and it's still hot and urgent but he's never kissed anyone like this before, he's never felt like his insides need to come to the outside to cool off. The heel of Harry's hand drags up the front of his jeans and his reaction is pretty instantaneous, body hardening as a passionate cry peals from his throat.

 

Harry's there, undressing him with nimble fingers while he tries to catch his breath and rut into his hand simultaneously.

 

"How much-" Louis gasps, surging up to steal another kiss from Harry's lips.

 

Harry bends low to listen.

 

"How much?" He prompts.

 

"How much have you had to drink?" Louis blinks, working around Harry's hand to unfasten his jeans. Harry's still cupping Louis through his own denim so they're both awkward and Louis feels incredibly hot.

 

"Two beers," Harry replies. "I'm not drunk, Lou."

 

Louis pauses, hands curling around Harry's arms.

 

"I want you."

 

Harry sucks in a breath, grinding his hips against Louis', his hand still wedged between them.

 

"Want you, too."

 

"I've not-I don't usually-"

 

Harry smirks, pulling away to audaciously yank his skin-tight jeans down his legs, treading on the material to tug it off his calves and almost tripping in the process.

 

"Are you trying to tell me you've never bottomed, Louis?"

 

Louis bites his lip, swallowing hard.

 

"That's what I'm trying to say."

 

Harry comes close, arm sliding around him.

 

"Hot-shot hockey player hm?"

 

Louis lets the kiss progress, presses himself up against Harry's front and uses his hands to grasp at his semi-naked body in a  sign for where he wants this to go. When Harry pulls away he's panting, cheeks and chest flushed and eyes dark with want. Louis watches his throat as he swallows; imagines something else gulping down Harry's throat.

 

"Where's the bedroom in this place?" Harry asks him.

 

Louis shows him the way.

 

//

 

 

Harry's eager in bed. It's endearing because he's a little bit shaky and accident-prone; getting his boxers twisted around his ankles and rutting up Louis' belly when he misses his dick.

 

Soon, though, they're settled and buzzed; nicely turned on. Louis' chosen to go on all fours with Harry arching over him and kissing his shoulder as he preps a condom and the lube.

 

His fingers had felt incredible inside him and Louis wanted to come down his throat with those fingers tucked in deep but Harry's got other plans and Louis' not going to deny him. If he wasn't so ready for this he'd be thinking about what it all meant- soft, vulnerable Harry fucking into _him_ , Louis, the guy no-one liked to cross.

 

Harry's body is an absolute playground, though, all sinewy lines and carefully-crafted muscle and Louis hadn't ever felt so perfect as when Harry lifted him with tight arms around his waist to crawl on the bed to lay him on it gently. It was somewhat like being kidnapped by the Beast and being made love to in the most beautiful way.

 

The first press feels impossibly thick. He takes a breath and lets it out slowly and Harry pushes in; past the head.

 

"Hmm," he hears Harry hum throatily. "Oh, Lou."

 

"Are you sure you're nineteen?" Louis pants, willing his body not to protest Harry's invasion.

 

"Very sure. Shh now, you're ruining the moment."

 

Louis chokes on a gasped laugh as Harry rocks deeper; another few inches in. Louis' elbows shake and weaken, forcing him to bend them and rest his forehead on his hands.

 

"I can't-"

 

"Does it hurt?" Harry asks immediately, leaning to one side to see his facial expression.

 

"Too good," Louis swallows. "Want to come right now."

 

"Not even got all of me, yet, Lou," Harry teases with a deceptively deep voice that gives away his desire.

 

"If I do, just keep going," Louis begs.

 

Harry curls his arms around Louis' waist, laying himself over his back.

 

"Gonna shoot together, Lou," he murmurs.

 

Louis gasps as Harry slides all the way into him; hips nestling with little bumping motions. He wants to say something, to swear or tell Harry how hot it feels, being filled but he's too breathless and awed to find the words. He makes a sound he's not proud of, widening his legs a bit to make room for Harry to shuffle closer.

 

Harry's hand rubs across his belly and he thrusts; holding Louis in place on the mattress.

 

"Hmm, yeah," Harry breathes against his ear, licking his neck and kissing it; his long hair water falling to make Louis shiver at the delicious graze of those soft curls.

 

"Harry-oh god."

 

Louis doesn't have the words or semblance anymore. His bossy nature and tough-man image boil down to nothing but this; crouched on all fours for a ballet dancer who cries when he's broken.

 

"Lou."

 

It's all Harry seems to be able to grunt out, too, sinking into Louis as his hips snap; filling him with thick heat and thumbing his nipple to coax him on.

 

"Yes, yes," Louis whispers as Harry changes angle, shuffling up closer with his body leaning away to give his thrust more power; and that's what does it, that's the trigger for Louis as he gasps at the unexpected feeling of Harry's body reaching something inside him that sets him on fire.

 

Harry's hand splays gently against his belly as he comes untouched, the bigger man fucking into him a few more times before releasing himself; ragged breaths stark in the quiet room.

 

"Oh, wow." Louis chokes out, clutching at Harry's softening body part inside him.

 

Harry slides out carefully, leaving Louis clutching at nothing. Louis lays down gingerly on his front.

 

Harry leans away and shuffles back close, half over-lapping his back.

 

"Lou, you okay?" His voice is deeper than it's ever been. "Did I hurt you?"

 

Louis shakes his head with a smile, rolling over to hug him.

 

"Come here," he holds his arms open for Harry to settle into them.

 

"You're amazing," Harry murmurs, smudging a kiss into Louis' lips.

 

//

 

 

Harry wakes up slowly, blinking sleepy eyes to focus.

 

Across the bed from him is Louis, sleeping soundly, looking beautiful in the soft light. His stubble catches the sunlight; his lashes look dark against his cheeks. Harry reaches across to gently shift his fringe away from his eyes; a soft smile curving his lips.

 

A warm feeling blooms over his skin as he remembers last night; remembers how it feels to be within Louis; how he sounds when he's high on desire and how he feels in his hands. Suddenly everything feels good and he can't remember the last time he's felt that way. Only the lingering thought of having to go back to school causes his soft smile to flicker.

 

He rolls over and lets out a hiss; hand clutching into his lower back.

 

"Fuck!" He whispers quietly, wincing as he remembers all too clearly how he'd knelt over Louis and thrusted into him, probably not a good idea considering everything.

 

"Need a massage?" Louis' voice is raspy with sleep.

 

Harry stills.

 

"Sorry. Didn't mean to wake you."

 

Louis pops an eye open.

 

"Try not swearing loudly next time."

 

Harry concedes with a  smile.

 

"I might need some manipulation," he admits.

 

Louis' brow pops up.

 

"Oh yeah? Should have known not to date a younger guy..."

 

Harry turns his head and smiles at Louis, letting it grow into a grin. His eyes flick over Louis' face.

 

"Good morning, by the way."

 

Louis' smiling back, more bashful.

 

"Morning, Harold..."

 

"Are you ok? Are you sore?"

 

Louis purses his lips, amused. He kicks his legs about and clenches his butt-cheeks. A delicious ache throbs there, petty memory for the reality of the night before.

 

"Hm, a bit," he smirks. "It's nice."

 

Harry turns slowly back onto his side, propping up with an elbow to lean down to kiss Louis' lips, letting the moment drag on while he hums happily.

 

"Are you one of those mushy boyfriends?" Louis asks amusedly. "You know, like too cool for school until you go steady and then you turn into a limpet?"

 

Harry can't help his bark of laughter.

 

"Didn't know we were boyfriends but thanks for telling me."

 

Louis opens his mouth, face paling as he stutters to redeem himself.

 

"It was just a joke...it doesn't have to mean anything. Stupid thing for me to say really, what's new..."

 

Harry carefully rolls onto his front.

 

"Can you sort me out so I can move?"

 

Louis gathers the sheet around his waist as he crawls over, settling astride Harry's hips.

 

"Don't- _you know_...get me going from this," Louis muses as he leans forward and grasps Harry's waist, thumbs pressing into soft skin to find the pain point.

 

He yelps when Louis finds it.

 

"Not sure how sexy this is," Harry muses. "Weird kink you got."

 

Louis' thumbs start work on his injured muscles; relief immediately noticeable. Harry lets out a low-throated hum of appreciation.

 

Louis shifts a bit behind him.

 

"Do you even know how fucked you sound?"

 

Harry chuckles breathily, kicking his feet back to find contact with Louis.

 

"Hey, don't," he pouts. "I'll feel self-conscious."

 

"Your moaning is sinful," Louis explains.

 

"Well I'm new to all this," Harry defends in a mumbly voice. "Everything feels so good."

 

Louis' hands still on his back as Harry's words percolate.

 

"New to-? Harry, what-"

 

Harry smirks to himself, dipping his chin into the backs of his hands, feet finding home in the curve of the small of Louis' back. He squeezes his toes as his confession is realised.

 

"You're my first, Louis," he shares then, softly.

 

Louis lets out a breath but then it goes silent and Harry has to twist a bit to see; the niggle in his back ignored.

 

"Louis, it's okay, you know. I'm old enough."

 

"But you-" Louis' lips falls open, his blue eyes are haggard with concern. "You didn't tell me. I could have-"

 

"Could have what? Told me 'no' because you thought I was too inexperienced?" Harry derides. "No thank you."

 

Louis' hands push heel-up his spine as he re-starts his gentle muscle work.

 

"You've really never done that before?" Louis asks more quietly, an edge of awe in his voice.

 

Harry smiles to himself.

 

"Nope."

 

"But you were perfect...Jesus..."

 

Harry lays his face to one side.

 

"I'm not perfect," he denies gently.

 

Louis finishes his massage in silence.

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

Harry's back is strapped.

 

The sports manipulation that Louis has been doing is working but Madame is not happy about his weekend disappearance from the dorms. She gives him cool glances with a disdainful pinch of her lips and Harry's careful all week; watching her with other students and seeing if they get the same treatment.

 

It's only him.

 

And he knows it's because he practices in pale pink tights and leotards; pink ballet shoes to match. He knows it's because his hair is long and soft and he moves with aÂ  grace usually reserved for women. He knows it's because the day he started here he had pinned a picture of David Beckham in his locker and she had seen it and ripped it down, telling him it wasn't appropriate to have photographs decorating his locker.

 

He knows now, that she hates him because he is gay.

 

He _needs_ to dance, though. He needs to prove that he's as strong as every other guy in this room and he needs to get back into the top ten of the class so he can be picked for a troupe again.

 

He needs it like he needs air in his lungs.

 

His arches aren't as stiff but everything is still a bit slow warming up, gentle, gradual layers of stretches upon stretches to get his body ready for a routine he knows he wouldn't be able to do without the tight wrap around his middle.

 

"Come on," he murmurs to himself, leaning off the bar with simple moves.

 

"You have something to show me?"

 

Madame's voice echoes around the room and Harry turns, eyes raking over her. She's an older woman, around forty with greying hair and a pinched-looking face. Her hair is in the same high bun as his except her features are gaunt where his are masculine.

 

She has thin, pressed lips where his are full and pink.

 

He clears his throat.

 

"I can do the routine."

 

Madame's eyes drift over him.

 

"With a brace? No self-respecting ballet company will let you go on stage with a  brace."

 

"I can join classes," he points out.

 

"You didn't need to perform a routine to convince me," she snaps.

 

"Didn't I?" He lifts his brow, tongue lathing over his lips. They still tingle from kissing Louis four days ago and he knows it's going to be so much harder to see him now that he's back under surveillance.

 

"Very well," Madame moves to sit on the piano seat. "Show me."

 

Harry starts up the new song he's been working with _._

_Tell me something, tell me something_

_You don' know nothing, just pretend you do_

_I_ _need something, so tell me something new_

_Choose your words cause there's no antidote_

_For this curse oh what's it waiting for_

_Must desert you just before you go_

He's already moving in sweeping, gentle gestures, flowing and ebbing like the tide in beautiful harmony with the music; limbs perfectly in place and body bowed impeccably.

 

_Oh, tell me something I don't already know_

_Oh, tell me something I don't already know_

 

He remembers the way Louis' hands felt on him the night they slept together; remembers the way the other man whispered raspily into his ear and laughed loudly with a cackle. He remembers Louis' submission; the way his walls came down the moment Harry got him up against one.

_Brooklyn saw me, empty avenues_

_There's no water inside this swimming pool_

_Almost over, that's enough from you_

_I'e been praying, I never did before_

_Understand I'm talking to the walls_

_And I'_ _ve been praying ever since New York_

He ignores the pain as it edges into his consciousness choosing to push through to finish the piece, a piece choreographed purely from the way Louis makes him a feel and it's surprising that a guy he met by pure accident is now someone he considers he cannot live without but it's true and that feeling is there in his heart as he twirls and twirls; ribboned batons in his hands which he picked up from the side of the studio as he'd spun past.

 

_Oh, tell me something I don't already know_

_Oh, tell me something I don't already know_

_Oh, tell me something I don't already know_

_Oh, tell me something I don' already know_

He's tired when the song ends, his breathing is heavy but there's something burgeoning inside him and it feels a lot like hope. It feels a lot like something he's never felt before. His head is knocked back, body arched in a lunge and he straightens up, chin dipping with a swallow as he waits for Madame's words.

 

"You dance like a five year old girl," she criticises. "Have you not grown out of your obsession with pink?"

 

Harry stares at her, blinking slowly because-

 

 _Is that really all she took from his art?_ The fact he likes pink?

 

"Twirling your batons and doing pretty little spins?" Madame stands up, gaze hard.

 

He doesn't bother to defend himself or justify his use of ribbon. There's no point. If any other student had done his routine, they'd have been applauded for it but Harry already knows he's at a disadvantage.

 

"Can I join class?" He asks only.

 

Madame is halfway to the studio door when she turns.

 

"I suppose you can try," she offers.

 

The door closing is the loudest sound he's heard.

 

//

 

Louis has texted him all week, begging for a meet-up but Harry tells him that he can't, that he's fixed and he has too many classes to catch up on.

 

It's true, of course, but he's also avoiding another truth.

 

That he can't do this. He can't date Louis because it's just too hard. Madame is barely hiding her disgust for him and he needs to get back to being the best. His back has held up with the support in class and he feels semi-normal again.

 

Semi-normal without a heart, perhaps.

 

Because his heart still beats very loudly for the petite man that he's been inside of.

 

He doesn't go to the game. He listens to the commentary on the radio as it's transmitted live and he cheers quietly to himself when the team win but it's not the same as being there and getting to watch Louis whizz around the ice, thighs working to propel him across it; little body flying around to protect the goal.

 

He gets a text from Louis around ten, telling him he's coming over but Harry dismisses it; bemused that Louis thinks he can get to Harry in his prison.

 

When a knock sounds on his dorm door; he looks up, confused.

 

Nobody ever comes to his dorm because he's not friends with anyone here and he hates pretending to like people who don't like him back. His Mum is wealthy and some of the others are jealous of her extravagant lifestyle touring the world on a private yacht and drinking champagne but if they stopped for one minute to think about it then they'd realise that his Mum has dumped him at a boarded University and paid for him to be taken care of so actually there's nothing to be jealous _of_.

 

His Dad lives closer by, he's not loaded like his Mum is but Harry likes going there in term breaks. He likes knowing he has at least one parent who gives a shit.

 

"Who is it?" He calls out, frowning.

 

He's wearing next to nothing, just some boxer-briefs with his hair all loose.

 

"Let me in quick!" Comes the voice and Harry's off the bed in a  flash, ripping the door open.

 

"Lou!"

 

Louis pushes against his chest gently to tumble inside; curling into a breathy giggle.

 

"Shit! I thought I'd been caught then. Some old guy just came down the hall and asked what I was doing...I told him I'd lost my ballet shoes..."

 

Harry swallows, eyes flicking to the door even though he can't see out.

 

"Did he believe you?"

 

Louis straightens then, his smile softening as he looks at Harry.

 

"Yeah. Anyway. Come here," Louis opens his arms and steps closer so Harry bends to hug him; closing his eyes and sighing out in the tight embrace.

 

"You should have told me you were coming."

 

"I did."

 

"I thought you were kidding."

 

"I never joke about things like seeing you," Louis teases.

 

Harry pulls away, fidgeting awkwardly. Louis' gaze is glued to his chest.

 

"Uh---you going to put some clothes on?"

 

Louis swallows and Harry knows he's a bit affected by his nakedness. He smiles and moves to find something; pulling on some yoga pants and a ratty t-shirt.

 

"Better?" He asks mildly as he turns back to Louis.

 

Louis has started to tour his room; fingering photos and awards up on his shelf.

 

"You have short hair!" Louis picks one up from when Harry was much younger and a boy's boy.

 

"Yeah," he nods, tucking some of the wild mess behind his ear. "Wasn't always so girly."

 

Louis flicks an interested glance at him for that comment but he chooses not to ask.

 

"We having a night in, then?" He asks instead.

 

Harry swallows, turning towards the window in the room as if he can escape it just by looking out. The courtyard is quiet and dark; lit by infrequent ground lights.

 

"I'm studying," he says and Louis looks to the bed to see the books laid there from where Harry recently got up.

 

"Oh." Louis' voice feels strangled in his throat. His lungs feel tight for air. "I should have waited for you to- _shit_ , yeah, sorry," he winces of his bull-dozing in there without waiting for Harry to confirm it was okay.

 

It's just that the last time they saw each other, Louis had thought _anything_ would be okay, really. As long as they got to see each other.

 

"I told you it would be hard when I was back to my usual schedule," Harry adds lowly but it's quiet and it's like it's not him who's speaking but another version of the Harry Louis knows.

 

"Too hard to try?" Louis pushes the words through his spasming throat.

 

Harry's shoulders curve into himself; arms wrapping around his body in comfort.

 

"I'm not allowed," he manages weakly; head bowed.

 

He flinches when Louis' hands slide onto him from behind; one around his side and one gliding over where the injury lays in his back. He's trying to keep his breath even but he's shaking and he thinks Louis knows because-

 

"I really like you," Louis says, leaning into Harry's body and pressing his cheek against his shoulder-blade. "And I don't like saying that because it's too soon to be declaring affection but if you're going to dump me then-"

 

"I'm not dumping you," Harry twists quickly and it dislodges Louis and makes Harry wince from the strain. "Lou, I told you...I think you're amazing."

 

"Was it the other night?" Louis asks anyway. "Did I do something wrong?"

 

Harry's eyes sheen over and he's shaking his head with such a disbelieving smile, he looks like he might even laugh.

 

"My teacher hates me," he whispers, the tears gathering in his eyes blinked away onto his lashes. "I can't see you anymore."

 

Louis frowns because-

 

"Your teacher can't hate you, Harry. They're not allowed."

 

He chuckles but its dry and unhumoured.

 

"You don't understand."

 

"Have you told anyone?" Louis grasps his arm as he turns away, still shaky and weak.

 

Harry clears his throat and takes a deep breath.

 

"No, look, it doesn't work like that here and I wouldn't expect you to understand, so..."

 

Louis blinks, tilting his head. He's pretty sure that's a criticism.

 

"So, what?"

 

"So you should just go and not come back." Harry states.

 

If Louis hadn't seen the quiver in his hands, the way his hair is all soft and falling beautifully around his face, he might have actually listened. He might have actually taken the instruction and turned on his heel before he'd gotten too deep into it that meant he'd leave a piece of himself behind.

 

The truth was, Harry needed him. And he wasn't saying that from an egotistical point of view, thinking he was some grand saviour. He was saying it because he was pretty sure the shaking in Harry's hands which he was trying to hide by clenching them was just his way of avoiding touching Louis. He was sure that the fact Harry hadn't looked him in the eyes yet meant half of what he'd said was a lie.

 

Harry hadn't said he didn't like him back, he hadn't said he didn't want to see him. He'd said he _wasn't allowed_. There was a huge difference.

 

But he also didn't want Louis here right now. He wanted to please his teachers and obey all the rules and as much as Louis ached to step forward and hold him; he fought his instinct by digging his toes into the ground even as he swayed toward him.

 

"Okay," he manages to grind the words from his throat. "I'm going,"

 

Harry's head pops up then, eyes wide. Louis just offers him a grim smile.

 

"I hope everything goes well for you," he adds before he opens the door and slides through to shut it behind him.

 

Harry breaks down five seconds later.

 

//

 

It's 3am when Louis hears noises outside.

 

He thinks it's a stalking fox or overly active bird until he hears twigs snap and bushes rustled.

 

He flips his duvet back and grabs his baseball bat.

 

Luckily he sleeps in boxers and a tee shirt and as he tiptoes down the stairs his ears are on hyper alert.

 

Last month a house up the road got burgled and he's not taking any chances. He might not be rich but his things mean a lot to him so he wont let them go without a fight.

 

He hears heavy breathing; thinks he makes out muttered swear-words and his heart is banging loudly in his chest by now, adrenaline rushing through his veins.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

There's an intruder out there and Louis might be no match.

 

He flicks the lock on the front door and yanks it open, hoping for the element of surprise.

 

"Who's out there?"

 

There's a rustling from the bush outside the veranda and a hissed 'ouch, fuck!' which precedes a thud.

 

Louis runs out onto the porch and down the steps, rounding the staircase to point his bat into the foliage.

 

"Freeze!"

 

Harry's curled on his side; one eye closed and both hands held up in front of him.

 

"Don't shoot," he begs lowly.

 

Louis takes a quick, relieved breath.

 

"Shoot?" He says. "Why would I have a gun?"

 

Harry shrugs, propping into his elbow and venturing a look at Louis. He eyes the bat distrustfully.

 

"I see you're already well-equipped," he muses.

 

Louis lowers the bat and holds out a hand.

 

"Get up, night prowler," Louis quips.

 

Harry takes his hand and gets up, brushing himself free of mud and leaves.

 

"They're in your hair," Louis reaches up to untuck the foliage from Harry's bun and his green eyes fix on his, wide and soft.

 

Louis clears his throat and mutters an apology.

 

"Don't be," Harry says.

 

He looks so forlorn is the thing. So conflicted. Like a child who's run away from his Mother but only because Mother hurt him.

 

Louis swallows, shivering a bit in the dark. He tilts his head to the side to gesture Harry inside and Harry follows steadily behind.

 

//

 

 

Louis doesn't ask questions.

 

He makes tea and he watches Harry carefully as he sips his sat on the sofa while Louis takes a chair a few feet away.

 

He's pulled on some tracksuit bottoms and a hoodie to ward off the chill.

 

Harry's quiet. Contemplative and stuck in his own mind somewhere but Louis knows it's a labyrinth and he's trying to find his way out.

 

"I don't want to spent my entire life doing what other people tell me to do." Is what he chooses to say first.

 

Louis swallows. He doesn't really know what it feels like. He has the grand luck of having a boss who appreciates his sass and wit and doesn't try to temper it unless he's sitting a 2+2 for roughing in the sin bin.

 

"That doesn't sound like fun," Louis offers, getting up to sit beside Harry when he senses his difficulty in opening up. He curls a warm hand around Harry's knee.

 

"But I know that making this choice...choosing to see you...will have consequences," he murmurs.

 

Louis blinks. Because he's still not okay with the fact that Harry's teacher is being a dick. There are some teachers who go a bit hard on students who have a natural ability because they want them to be the best, and Louis is no expert but Harry's ballet is incredible but nobody would convince him that the authoritarian attitude was improving his talent. He looked worn and beat and nobody had laid a finger on him so how could that be?

 

"I still think you need to report this teacher of yours," Louis hedges. "Surely the Dean will look into it."

 

Harry swallows.

 

"I wish I'd never said anything."

 

Louis feels the smarting effect of those words. Harry doesn't want to be pushed on the subject, he doesn't want to be forced into doing anything. He'd just said as much. And here's Louis-

 

Well, what _is_ Louis hoping to achieve exactly? He's not even Harry's boyfriend so he has no right to intervene.

 

"I won't talk about it anymore," Louis promises quietly with a sigh and  a sip of tea. "I just wanted to put it out there how I felt."

 

Harry leans back a bit and stares at him.

 

"Have I put you off kissing me?"

 

Louis smiles and slides his cup to the side, lifting his hands to frame Harry's face but Harry's moving faster to curl lower; one hand sliding onto Louis' back while the other lands on his thigh and Louis ends up cupping his neck instead, working his fingers into the back of his hair and tugging him closer by his nape.

 

Harry's stud presses into his tongue and Louis giggles; happiness bubbling up inside him as Harry leans over some more; evidently trying to get Louis to lay down on the sofa.

 

"Are we going to make-out on the sofa now?" Louis asks as Harry pulls away due to his laughter.

 

Harry smirks, thumb gently gliding across Louis' cheek.

 

"Unless this is a good time to teach me to skate?"

 

Louis lets himself be lowered into the cushions.

 

//

 

"Oh shit..."

 

Louis' hand might actually fall off. Harry's holding it so hard he's losing circulation and they haven't even gotten him on the ice yet.

 

Louis' in his jersey with jeans and Harry's got his yellow jumper on in silent support even though there's no game today. It's early on Sunday morning and Louis snuck the keys off Keith the caretaker to show Harry what he's missing.

 

He's still stood on the side, afraid to step down.

 

"What if I fall?"

 

Louis tilts his head.

 

"I'll catch you of course."

 

"Is that some soppy boyfriend shit?" Harry squints at his suspiciously. "Just to trick me into falling so you can Snapchat pictures of my icy ass?"

 

Louis sputters out some laughter, letting go of Harry's hand to take a lap of the rink; showing of the control he has over his skates.

 

"You have nothing to worry about!"

 

He skids up close; ice splattering onto the bottoms of Harry's jeans, rolled up to the tops of his boots His eyes flick to Louis.

 

"You're sure I won't get hurt?"

 

Louis slides to the very edge of the rink and circles Harry's waist with two strong arms.

 

"I'll protect you, babe. No worries."

 

Harry mumbles something that sounds like _'definitely mushy boyfriend shit'_ and Louis is curious, really as Harry ventures a toe onto the ice with his support.

 

_Does he see Louis as his boyfriend now?_

 

"Fuck," Harry's arms wrap around his shoulders; clinging on for dear life as Louis holds him up with a fond smile.

 

Harry lets out a breath as Louis starts to skate backwards, very slowly, hoping that Harry won't notice. They're plastered together front to front but Louis feels elated at bringing Harry into his world; into his favourite place.

 

"I'm sorry, you know."

 

Louis looks up, smiles at Harry's worried look and reaches to kiss him, softly.

 

"Whatever it is you're sorry for, it's okay."

 

"For telling you to go," Harry defines quickly. "I shouldn't have done that."

 

"I know why you did. And anyway. No pouting. Today is about having fun..."

 

Harry looks at him like he's speaking another language. Louis edges his hand under the hem of his jumper; sliding his palm onto Harry's back. It makes him smile, slowly. It makes him relax.

 

"Fun," he repeats only, with a dimpled grin.

 

Louis smiles back.

 

"Yeah. I get to teach you something and you get to-"

 

Harry's backing out of his arms before he's finished the sentence and Louis watches with confused awe as he smoothly pushes himself across the ice; practicing a spin.

 

His mouth falls opens as the breath leaves his lungs. _Harry lied!_ He lied about being able to skate!

 

"Hey!" Louis calls, affronted, a grin tugging at the edge of his mouth.

 

Harry beams from the other side of the rink where Louis' took up a sprint on his skates to catch him but the other man giggles and gets to moving out of the way.

 

"Hey what?!" He yells back, breathless with laughter.

 

"You lied! You little shit, you-"

 

Harry performs some extravagant twirls and loops across the ice, nearly over-balancing at one point which is when Louis slows down; catching Harry's hand as he glides along for a moment, catching his breath and slowing his heart rate.

 

"How's your back?" Louis asks.

 

Harry squeezes his hand.

 

"I'm good. Don't worry about me."

 

Louis looks to his toes bashfully. He had to put on the women's size 6's because the men's ones were locked away. The dainty white skates contrast with Harry's big black ones but they still don't give him the same grip as his hockey boots.

 

"I can't help it."

 

Harry looks over, sliding closer.

 

"I'm glad you do."

 

Louis looks up, finds those green eyes sparkling as he meets them.

 

"Yeah. Well."

 

Harry smiles, slowing enough to bend over and sneak a sweet kiss from Louis' lips but Louis doesn't have time to stop them to kiss him properly because in the next second Harry's pulling away; a happy laugh spilling from his lips.

 

"Catch me if you can!" Is his challenge.

 

Louis shakes his head and starts after him.

 

//

 

"Gotcha."

 

It's much later. They've had hot chocolate and lunch at a pretty French place Louis found and he has to drop Harry back at Uni before he fails all his classes bunking to be with him.

 

They began a wrestling match on the sofa which spilled to the floor and now he has Harry pinned; wrists above his head while Louis straddles one of his thighs. He grins for good measure.

 

Harry smiles up at him, languid beneath him.

 

"You're stronger than me, this is an unequal fight."

 

Louis roils his eyes. They both know Harry is the stronger one, since his core muscles are rock solid thanks to the art of dance.

 

Louis tightens his hands anyway, pressing Harry's wrists into the floor.

 

"I think I might keep you like this. Tell the Dean I've kidnapped you."

 

Harry grins, knee bending to rub his thigh against the apex of Louis' legs.

 

"Gonna do naughty things to me, Lou?"

 

And why does Louis' body react instantly; hardening against his jeans embarrassingly fast? Harry's eyes drop there; a brow goes up. He bites his lip temptingly and Louis hates that he's such a seductress when he's not being vulnerable.

 

"Jesus Christ."

 

Harry laughs again, loud and free and it's possibly the best sound Louis has heard but soon he's tumbling; a heavy weight falling on top of him; his face filled with hair. It's his turn to have his wrists captured, but its a gentle touch and they're by his ears.

 

"Want you." Harry says, low and husky.

 

Louis sucks in a breath, still surprised by Harry's desire for him and the way he openly expresses it. It's the hottest thing really and he's burning into Harry's skin where they're pressed together, limbs alternating.

 

"Want you too," he replies, just like before.

 

When Harry ducks down to kiss him, he makes sure to flick his stud with the tip of his tongue.

 

//

 

"Lou..."

 

They're spooning; Harry big spoon to Louis and they made love like this, slow and intense. Harry's hands are still possessive on him; splayed over his belly and chest as he clutches Louis close; a knee settled between his.

 

If he closes his eyes he can feel the way Harry just filled him so deeply; rocking gently to bring him to his peak. He can feel Harry's kisses to his neck and gentle bites against his shoulders.

 

"Yeah?"

 

"I have to go soon."

 

Louis swallows, curling his hand over Harry's on his belly and twining their fingers.

 

"I know."

 

He feels Harry nuzzle into the back of his neck.

 

"I wish I didn't have to."

 

"You need your degree," Louis reminds gently, feeling the same aching loss creeping over his chest as he thinks about how long it will be until he sees Harry again.

 

"I need you more," is what Harry says.

 

"Can you stop boarding there?" Louis asks out of interest, because it's an option for Harry to live with him until he finishes out the year.

 

He feels Harry's sigh against his nape and he shivers. That causes Harry to tighten his arms to warm him up.

 

"My parents pay for it. It's not that kind of school, you know? They don't take half board."

 

Louis swallows again. So it's set, then.

 

"But you can come at weekends?"

 

"I tell them I see my Dad."

 

"Does your Dad know?" Louis wonders.

 

"No. But I should tell him about us."

 

"Will he be angry?"

 

Harry huffs out a breath.

 

"You're not that old," he teases of Louis' twenty-two years.

 

Louis grins into the pillow.

 

"He knows you're into guys, right?"

 

"He knows," Harry assures.

 

"I'd like him to know, I think."

 

Harry hums, kissing Louis' shoulder.

 

"I'll text you."

 

"You better."

 

Harry smiles against his skin; holding on for another long, blissful moment before he stirs.

 

"Back to life. Back to reality," he recites the song words with a sullen tone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you're enjoying it! Tell me :)
> 
> Also- warning for those who find the bullying difficult. I think you know me well enough not to go too hard at it but some may find it upsetting.
> 
> Ang

"Do it again."

 

Harry peers at Madame, wiping the sweat off his chest with a towel and searching for a headband to slip over his hair.

 

"What?"

 

His teacher eyes him coolly.

 

"Your feet were slow on the _entrechat quatre._ You need to start again."

 

Harry is practicing for his next dance exam. He was only asked to show his intended routine; albeit incomplete and unpolished. The other students were sat around and had been through theirs, dismissed despite similar mistakes. Harry doesn't get the luxury of leaving. He's been through it three times already, each time more precise than the last.

 

"I'll practice again tomorrow," he promises.

 

"Are you questioning my authority Harry?" Madame stands and walks towards him, small heels clicking against the studio flooring.

 

He takes a breath while he can, hands on his hips and feet pointed outwards. He'd worn a black for the last two weeks since Madame disliked his pink ensembles.

 

Madame steps close to him, beady eyes assessing.

 

"You think because you're handsome you don't have to work as hard."

 

"That's not true," he frowns. He's not handsome. He's just Harry.

 

Her hand lifts, the back of it brushing his chest.

 

"You're so hot, Harry. Why don't you cool down?"

 

His chest heaves still with the exertion of his piece.

 

"I'm trying to."

 

"You know, you could skip another rendition," she ventures with a purse of her lips, her fingers splaying against his ribs.

 

He only looks at her, waiting.

 

"You could....help me out," she muses.

 

Harry's eyes narrow.

 

"How?" He wants to know.

 

Madame looks up at him and smiles.

 

"I think we both know how, don't we?"

 

He blinks.

 

"Are you suggesting that we-"

 

"I'm not suggesting anything," she spins away with a haughty sigh. "I'm telling you to do the routine again."

 

"I have to be careful with my-"

 

"Your _weakness_ ," she cuts over him condescendingly. "As if we could forget."

 

Harry stares, hard.

 

"I'm not sleeping with you."

 

Madame's lashes flicker but her face doesn't change. She cricks her neck.

 

"Again," she says, voice soft but deceptively steely.

 

Harry walks over to restart the song on his phone.

 

He takes his place in the centre of the floor.

 

//

 

"What's the pain level?"

 

Harry forces his eyes open, blinking blearily into the light.

 

"Hm?"

 

"Your pain level, Harry," the voice asks again.

 

He's been asked this before he's sure. An hour ago, it had been a nine, near agony. Now he feels strangely calm like he's floating. The pain is still there but it's dull and residual.

 

"Three?"

 

"We've got you on 30 milligrams of morphine so you'll feel a bit spaced out," the voice says ad he remembers now that it's a Doctor, a nice gentle man in his forties called Dr. Green.

 

"I think I'm floating," he offers.

 

Dr. Green smiles, squeezing Harry's forearm.

 

"That's better than the screaming pain you were in on arrival."

 

Harry agrees, floating is better than feeling like his whole spine is being ripped out. He swallows on a dry throat and licks his cracked lips.

 

"Can I have water?"

 

The Doctor hums his approval as he fills in a sheet on his clipboard, hanging it at the end of the bed when he's done.

 

"You've got a visitor who can help you drink," he says and Harry's heart rate speeds up for a moment; his body tensing and triggering the weakness in his spine. He can't help but wonder if Madame has come to check on him, to tell him he's dismissed from school for good. He swallows as the realisation washes over him, paling his skin.

 

"Harry..."

 

His Dad, Des, rushes into the room and leans carefully over the bed to hug him. Harry can only lift his arms to reciprocate.

 

"Dad?" He questions. "God I'm sorry they called you at work, I didn't-"

 

"Never mind work," Des dismisses quickly. "Are you okay? They told me you had a spinal injury and I thought-"

 

Harry grimaces. His Dad had thought the worst of course. That his dance career was over. He might be right but not for the right reasons. The irony of it makes him want to laugh bitterly but he bites his tongue against the urge.

 

None of this is his Dad's fault. Harry himself had chosen this path. He'd taken the hard road when he could have gone to a more relaxed dance-school and lived off-campus. He could have chosen a different life. But he'd told his Mum he wanted to be a ballet dancer and he'd shown her the Brochure for the Royal Ballet school and so he had been enrolled; paid for by her wealth. He couldn't back out now or complain about the pressure he was under.

 

"I'm ok," he manages quietly. "I had a strain and I didn't let it heal before I started practicing for my exam..."

 

"Harry," Des shakes his head with a sigh. "I keep telling you that you that you work too hard."

 

Harry looks to his hands, clasped together nervously on the sheet. He wants to sort his hair out, to brush it or pull it into a bun but he can't, he's frozen in place with no way of escaping.

 

"I just wanted it to be perfect."

 

"You've slipped a disc," Des ventures then.

 

"They told me," Harry swallows. "They won't know what it means until the swelling's gone down."

 

Des sighs, pulling up a seat beside the bed.

 

"And when were you going to tell me you have a boyfriend?"

 

Harry's gaze flicks to him, eyes wide with surprise.

 

"I-what? How did you-?"

 

"He's outside," Des gestures to the doorway with his chin. "He's been waiting with me and calming me down."

 

Harry blinks, mouth open with no words popping into his brain. It's still empty in there, he's still floating in space.

 

"He-how?" He whispers.

 

"They called the last three numbers in your phone history," Des explains softly. "Your Mum is in Canada but she can fly back if you need her to."

 

Harry shakes his head, swallowing a bitter taste in his mouth.

 

"I don't need her."

 

Des reaches up to rub his hand.

 

"I'm here, okay? I'll do whatever I can to get you better."

 

Harry bites his lips and looks back at his hands. Maybe if he'd said something. Maybe if he'd _told_ someone, like Louis had suggested. Maybe he wouldn't be laying here with a million thoughts running through his mind.

 

"Look, I'm sending Louis in," he says, standing. "He's worried sick and he needs to see you're okay."

 

Harry's eyes seek out his father.

 

"You picked well, Harry," he adds with a smile. "I like him."

 

"He's an ice-hockey player," Harry explains, although it doesn't make much sense.

 

Des chuckles.

 

"I know, he's been telling me all about it."

 

He watches his Dad leave the room and takes a deep breath, waiting for Louis to enter, waiting for him to tell him how stupid he is and how he should have reported Madame long ago to prevent his from happening. He's waiting with his eyes closed and a tremor in his hands as another hand cups his, breath falling on his face.

 

"Harry?"

 

He blinks his eyes open. Louis' face is hovering above his and he's pale; with tiredness drawn into the circles under his eyes. He sighs, his heart skipping  a beat.

 

"Lou...I'm so sorry," he begins guiltily. "I'm so so-"

 

Lips press against his, soft and tender. They move to his cheek, lasting the longest on his forehead.

 

"Babe," Louis says only as he pulls away with a creased face. "You don't know how pleased I am to see you."

 

Harry swallows.

 

"It's _my_ fault. I thought you'd be mad." He frowns confusedly.

 

Louis's hands cover one of his and cup his cheek simultaneously.

 

"This isn't your fault, Harry," Louis kisses his forehead again. "Don't worry, okay? Everything will be okay."

 

Harry's too out of it to worry.

 

"Can you get me some water?" He asks hopefully.

 

Louis does the honours, adjusting his bed to upright and helping him sip the liquid down. He watches as Louis roots around the drawers and comes up with a stretchy band and he sits on the edge of the bed and begins to gently brush Harry's hair away from his face.

 

"Look like an angel with your halo of hair," Louis tells him with a tucked-in smile of fondness.

 

Harry snorts and rolls his eyes.

 

"You're being mushy again."

 

Louis averts his gaze as he gathers Harry's hair in his hand to tether it away from his face.

 

"Want it twirled up?" Louis asks. "Or just in a little ponytail?"

 

Harry hums.

 

"Whatever is easiest, Lou." He decides.

 

Louis manages a messy bun but it's softer when Harry lays his head back against the pillow than how he would have tied it himself. There's a moment that they just look at each other, eyes connecting parts of their soul silently; hearts beating the same rhythm in time. The moment is broken by the clearing of a throat in the doorway.

 

They both look over to find Des leaning there, a knowing smile on his lips.

 

"I have to go back to the office for a while. Louis, can you stay for a bit?"

 

Louis nods his agreement.

 

"I don't have practice until eight."

 

"Right I'll leave you two to it," he nods, looking at Harry. "And Harry, don't worry, okay? We can work something out. You can stay with me while you recover if you need to, it's not a problem."

 

"Thanks, Dad," Harry forces a smile because he knows it _is_ a problem. His Dad's house and three hours away from the school. It would be too far for Harry to travel back and forth and he still has to take his academic subjects even if he can't perform for his exams until the end of term.

 

Louis' tucking the blankets gently in around him when his mind returns to the moment. His eyelids feel heavy and he yawns.

 

"I'm sorry, Louis," he says again.

 

Louis squeezes his hand.

 

"Please don't say that anymore."

 

"Can't exactly be naughty for a while can we," he muses, with a wry smile.

 

Louis' expression changes from badly-concealed worry to all-out hurt.

 

"I don't care about that, okay? I care about _you_. I thought you knew that, I thought-"

 

Harry yawns again, fingers curling around Louis' thumb.

 

"Stay?" He asks in a whisper as his eyes slip shut.

 

Louis settles in his seat with a sigh.

 

//

 

 

 

 _Three months. Surgery. Physio_.

 

The words are flitting through Harry's brain like torn-off desk calendar sheets, tossed away in a breeze.

 

He can't concentrate. He can't focus on one thing before another is said and he can't even fidget because he's still on complete bed rest for another day while they try and reduce the swelling.

 

Then he has to move, apparently, otherwise he'll stiffen up.

 

He uses his eyes to read the situation, glancing between Des and Dr. Green. There's flowers on his bedside table which remind him Louis is present in spirit, if not in physical embodiment and the bright tulips offer him meager comfort when his Dad looks at him with a worried frown.

 

Des is nodding along, taking in everything the Doctor says but Harry can feel his heart beat slowing; his eyes growing heavy. He's still heavily dosed and he knows that a few miles away, Madame is smiling smugly at his demise. This is what she wanted all along and now he might have no choice but to defer his final exam.

 

If the Doctor is accurate in his three-month recovery time-line then Harry will never be ready to dance. Not well enough to pass, anyway.

 

"I don't want you to worry." His Dad's hand cups his shoulder. "We'll work something out as soon as we know more."

 

"Are they going to cut me open?" Harry enquires dryly, eyes still closed as his nostrils flare. He hates feeling like a child who's being talked about but he knows he's not capable of coping with the details right now.

 

"They only do that in very severe cases," Des assures. "Mostly it's about gentle exercise and physiotherapy."

 

"I was doing that before," Harry points out, pressing his lips together as his brows furrow.

 

"We'll hire the best," Des promises. "We'll get you back at it in no time."

 

"In _three months_ ," Harry bites out, lip quivering.

 

Des sighs, squeezing his hand.

 

"I can see you're cared for Harry," his Dad says then, changing tack. "Why don't we talk about what you want to do when you leave hospital?"

 

Harry sighs, turning his face away.

 

"I'm tired."

 

"Alright, sleep, then." He can hear his Dad swallow. "I'll be back tomorrow, okay?"

 

Harry hums his agreement.

 

//

 

The thing was.

 

The thing was, the fucking puck _belonged_ in the guys mouth.

 

And because he couldn't _get_ it in the guy's mouth, his fist chose to be there instead. Not his fault really.

 

"Come on then, runt?"

 

Collins, a two hundred pound giant goads him as he drops his gloves and lifts his hands ready for a fight while Louis wishes he hadn't let his temper get the better of him when he'd shunted the oaf sharply into the backboards.

 

Louis reluctantly shucks his gloves onto the ice and lifts his chin defiantly. He has no hope of winning this fight but he might ease a bit of the burning pain in his chest, the one that had started the second he'd left the hospital after visiting Harry.

 

Because Harry didn't even deserve to be in hospital. He didn't deserve to be hurt or to be punished. And Louis doesn't know, not really, what the deal is with this teacher who pushes him beyond his limits but he's mad that it has happened. He's mad that it has turned out like this, with Harry in fear of losing the only thing that means something to him.

 

He grits his teeth as Collins takes a shot; his skates slipping on the ice as he dodges it; landing his own sharp knuckles against his opposer's cheek.

 

He hopes, deep down that ballet isn't the only thing that means something to Harry but he doesn't like to push things too hard or fast for fear of losing it and nothing makes any sense anymore. Harry won't be sneaking out to see him, he won't be dancing and what will be like? What will it do to _them_?

 

"Fuck!" He hisses as a fist smashes into his temple, right by his eye; stinging pain ripping through his forehead. He turns away from the blow, mouth-guard hitting the ice as the referees jump in to break up the fisticuffs; Louis shaking his head dazedly as he recovers from the punch.

 

"Fucking little pansy," Collins spits at him as he's dragged off the ice by two officials; leaving Louis to be rescued by his team.

 

"Mate, what was that?" Niall asks, skating him over towards the bench so he can get medical attention.

 

Louis' eyes flash fire when they meet his friend's.

 

"Nothing," he growls, slamming the door as he stalks off the ice.

 

//

 

"What's that?"

 

"What's what?" Louis keeps his chin low as he carries in a basket of goodies; a peaked cap pulled over his hair.

 

"On your face," Harry squints, wriggling a bit to try and sit up.

 

"Ah-ah," Louis tells him off and moves to buzz the bed up, one handed, basket still heavy in the other hand and now semi-wedged between them.

 

Harry tries to peer around the bows and ribbons to see.

 

"Have I got toothpaste on my face?" Louis asks innocently, keeping the bruised side of his face away from Harry's beady eyes.

 

"No, you've got a black eye," Harry states rather flatly. "Now let me see..."

 

Louis plants the basket in his lap gently.

 

"Happy first day out of bed!"

 

Harry uses the move to stare him.

 

"Louis. Show me your face."

 

"It's ugly, anyway," Louis turns away and wanders to the window, looking out.

 

"I think it's handsome," Harry tells him. "I think _you're_ handsome."

 

Louis smiles, tilting his good side towards Harry.

 

"Charm personified, aren't you?"

 

Harry's hands cup the basket.

 

"Open it, then," Louis prompts.

 

Harry blinks.

 

"I'm not opening anything until you tell me who hit you and why."

 

Louis swallows, pushing a smile onto his lips.

 

"Just a bit of banter on the ice during the game, nothing serious."

 

"Then you'll let me see," Harry argues.

 

Louis sags. _Shit_. He had no hope of avoiding this moment even though he had valiantly tried.

 

"Look, I'm known to have a bit of a hot-temper, okay?" He defends even though Harry hasn't criticized him. "Sometimes I pick a fight with someone bigger than me and I happen to lose by mere laws of physics..."

 

Harry looks about ready to toss the basket when Louis slowly walks over, rolling his eyes.

 

"Come here, please," Harry places a hand on the edge of the bed.

 

Louis huffs and sits, chin low.

 

Harry's hand cups his cheek gently; lifting his face and tipping it towards the light. His breath catches, nostrils flaring.

 

"Lou!"

 

Louis smiles wryly.

 

"I split my eyebrow, it's no big deal..."

 

"What's this..?" Harry picks up his hand to study the grazes on his knuckles.

 

His big thumb swipes over the scabbed-up skin tenderly and Louis feels a fluttering in his stomach.

 

"I might have thrown a solid punch into the mix," he murmurs quietly. "You know. _Might_ have."

 

"Why were you fighting?" Harry wants to know.

 

And that answer is a little more complicated because essentially, Louis was beating the shit out of Harry's teacher, even though physically the teacher wasn't there on the rink at the time. And Harry would probably be really disappointed in him if he knew the truth so Louis has no choice but to lie. No choice at all.

 

His lashes flicker and his gaze drops to Harry's chin because he can't look him in the eye when he answers.

 

"He called me pansy."

 

Harry's staring at him and the weight of his gaze feels like a torture laser; or one of those blinding bright lights shone in his eyes to make him confess. He clears his throat.

 

"I lost it," he adds more quietly than before.

 

Harry sucks in a breath and Louis thinks he's going to let out a tirade so he's surprised when soft, warm lips press into his bruised knuckles.

 

"Be careful, please," Harry tells him. "I don't want to have to worry about you while I'm in here."

 

Louis shifts a bit closer and curls his other hand around Harry's forearm gently; their other hands now twined.

 

"You mean you worry about me?" He muses. "Isn't that some mushy boyfriend shit?"

 

Harry smirks, eyes meeting Louis' with the edges of a smile Louis feels like it's been years since he last saw.

 

"Somebody has to," he replies.

 

Louis holds his gaze for a long moment before letting a grin creep over his mouth.

 

"Are you going to open your gift basket tonight or do I have to wait until tomorrow?"

 

Harry concedes with a put-upon eye-roll and huff of breath that feels a lot more affectionate than annoyed.

 

"If I have to. Why did you get me this anyway?" He pouts. "I'm going to be coming home soon."

 

The Doctor had said Harry's first attempt at movement had been a success; just the fact he could get up out of bed and walk to the toilet without being in near-crippling pain again was a good sign apparently. What the future held, he still wasn't sure and when his Dad got here, they'd decide that together.

 

Harry takes his time untying the layers of ribbons, picking one out to drape over his bun. Louis gets up to tie it properly, placing  a gentle kiss into the top of Harry's head.

 

"Hey, no mush," Harry lifts his face with pouty lips for a kiss.

 

Louis drops one there, smiling as Harry tries to extend it.

 

"Must be feeling better," Louis pulls away with a wink.

 

Harry unwraps the cellophane from his basket and fights the rustling plastic to the floor. Louis picks it up to toss it in the bin.

 

Harry pulls out the items one by one.

 

A set of ear-phones to plug into his phone so he can listen to music. A pink, fluffy soft cat toy that he immediately falls in love with. How did Louis know his favourite colour?

 

There's a secret stash of Hershey's in there; a small pillow for his neck, plastic toy rings in plastic baubles and a couple of ballet magazines.

 

Harry wants to tell him he's not that sick, that he doesn't need all this stuff but the teasing rebuff is stuck somewhere between the painful lump in his chest and the dry ache in his throat.

 

"Louis..."

 

Louis fidgets and blushes. He actually _blushes_ and Harry has never seen it happen, can't imagine how a guy who throws punches at a guy twice his size can be embarrassed about buying him beautiful, pretty things.

 

"Just you know," he shrugs up one shoulder. "In case you needed stuff."

 

Harry slides the basket to one side and reaches up, curling a hand around the back of Louis' next to coax him closer, close enough to run the tip of his tongue over Louis' bottom lip and lick into his mouth; flicking his tongue to press against the bottom of Louis' and earning himself a little pleased moan from Louis' throat.

 

"Thank you," Harry whispers before he presses their lips together; sucking the sweetness from Louis' slowly.

 

"Oops!"

 

The over-obvious jovial interruption comes in the form of Harry's Dad.

 

Louis immediately shoots up from the bed and cups the back of his neck.

 

"Mr. Styles. I, um-I..."

 

Des walks into the room and notices the same thing which Harry did.

 

"Tough game huh?"

 

Louis lifts his chin with a brave smile.

 

"You could say that."

 

"Sorry to interrupt," Des adds sheepishly. "But I only have a couple of hours off work and Harry and I need to work out what his living arrangements will be when he's released."

 

Louis licks his lips, eyes darting to Harry. He's clutching his cat toy and stroking it much like it's a real pet.

 

"I'll wait outside," Louis tells him.

 

"Thank you, Louis," Des cups his shoulder as he passes.

 

//

 

"You don't have to go back, you know. There are other schools who will take you for the last semester and they can use the work you've done so far to mark you for a grade at the end of the year."

 

"It's five more months, Dad. In three I could be fully recovered and I can smash my finals if I work hard."

 

"Working hard is what got you here," Des argues. "It might be time to take a step back."

 

"I'll lose all my privileges!" Harry shouts, becoming frustrated. He'll lose all his privileges anyway, just for loving boys, apparently.

 

"You can still get work, Harry!" Des assures vehemently. "You've got to think about the long term, here. Look at the bigger picture."

 

"I want to stay," Harry clenches his teeth stubbornly, folding his arms across his chest.

 

Des hesitates, walking across the room to the window.

 

"Harry."

 

His voice is deceptively soft, since the weight of it's meaning is not lost on the young man in the bed.

 

"I've had my suspicions for some time that they're over-working you. You're my son. I want you to succeed but this is not the way."

 

"I want to stay," Harry repeats, this time with a swallow which betrays his uncertainty.

 

Des looks over.

 

"You're three hours away from the school if you stay with me."

 

"I'll stay on campus," Harry says.

 

Des sighs, walking back over.

 

"Harry, love. You're going to need support. A lot of support, If what I'm being told is accurate. Someone to take you to your physio sessions and help you with your barre exercises..."

 

Harry eyes him testingly.

 

"What about Louis?"

 

Des frowns, coming closer.

 

"What about him?"

 

"He only lives ten minutes away from the school. Maybe he can help out."

 

"Doesn't he have work?" Des asks.

 

"He has training but it's mostly in the evening . He might be free to drive me to appointments and-"

 

Des watches him as he pauses, licking his lips.

 

"You can't just spend the next three months living it up with your boyfriend, H," his Dad points out gently.

 

Harry shakes his head, throat bobbing.

 

"I won't. It's not like that. He'll just be there to help me and get me to school."

 

Des walks to the door and opens it, sticking his head outside. He calls Louis into the room. Louis, for his part, looks petrified, blue eyes wide open and hands fidgeting.

 

"It's okay, Lou," Harry soothes him softly.

 

Des tells Louis the problem, He tells him of the possible solutions. And Louis is pinned between the vulnerable, wide open begging look from his boyfriend and the mildly judgmental, fatherly reservation of Des.

 

"What do you think?" Des finally asks.

 

Louis clears his throat.

 

"Well, I can take Harry to class and to appointments, no problem," he assures. "And I'm sure we can kit out the spare room to suit your needs..."

 

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

"I'm not a child."

 

"You can practice in the conservatory," Louis tells him. "And you can come swimming with me if you like."

 

Harry looks at his Dad pleadingly.

 

"Please, Dad. Louis will look after me, he said he would."

 

Des looks between the two men.

 

"Louis, this isn't just an excuse to--to fraternise," Des manages with a flush.

 

"Oh god, Dad," Harry groans, plopping his face into his hands.

 

"Sir, I have your son's best interests at heart," Louis promises, earning an inane grin from Harry.

 

"Suck up," he accuses fondly.

 

Des smiles at the pair.

 

"I'm going to visit at least twice a week."

 

"Please don't," Harry begs quietly while Louis agrees seamlessly to the request.

 

Harry stares at his father.

 

"Alright. Let's try it." He nods his agreement.

 

Harry's grin is wide, but it still doesn't meet his eyes. Louis thinks it's more to do with the medication than his true level of happiness.

 

"Alright," Louis rubs his hands together nervously.

 

Harry's coming to live with him and he's completely not-prepared.


	5. Chapter 5

The ice is always the place that Louis goes to process his thoughts.

 

The slick hiss and clack of metal on frozen water and the feeling of air rushing by is usually enough to calm his frazzled nerves.

 

His strict routine of relays and repititions usually tire him out enough to sleep through anything that might be on his mind. 

 

Niall skates up beside him.

 

"What gives Tommo?"

 

Louis glances over, tugging off his practice helmet. 

 

"Harry's coming to live with me." He shares. 

 

"Shit that moved fast," Niall elbows him with a grin. "Getting regular D now huh?"

 

Louis glares. 

 

"If you hadn't forgotten he's still in hospital," he smarts. "Not exactly thinking about the amount of fucking we'll do considering he's hurt."

 

Niall looks sheepish.

 

"Yeah sorry mate I forgot. Is he okay?"

 

Louis sighs, ruffling his blonde tipped hair.

 

"He's okay. I _think_. I'm worried about him going back to school though I think they're pushing him too hard."

 

"He seems sensible," Louis' friend comments. "He wouldn't go back if he hated it."

 

Louis flicks Niall a look. Because he's not certain that's true. Niall hasn't seen the perfectly beautiful graceful man crumple and fall to the ground. He hasn't seen him spend long moments inside his own mind figuring things out.

 

"He might if he's got some stupid idea he needs to impress them. If he thinks that by dropping out he'll automatically blacklist his name."

 

Niall skids to a stop.

 

"Shit are you serious?"

 

Louis sighs and shrugs.

 

"I just don't know because he won't talk to me."

 

Niall starts skating again so Louis follows.

 

"He will," the Irish man assures. "Especially now you'll be living together. "

 

Louis grits his teeth in a grimace.

 

"Ni, if I find out they've been manipulating him somehow and it's their fault he's hurt..."

 

Louis doesn't have to finish his sentence for Niall to know the meaning of his unspoken threat. 

 

"For once Tommo I'm with you," he promises. "Point me to the matches and lighter fluid and I'll be the best arsonist you've ever met."

 

Louis catches his eye and laughs, lightening the moment.

 

"Come on, dickhead," Louis slings his arm around Niall's shoulders and skates them to the exit. 

 

//

 

Harry's head is down when Louis arrives to pick him up.

 

Des is working but is coming for dinner to check out Harry's new home for the next month.

 

He's listening to a song which would ordinarily make him sad but today he refuses to let it. It's speaking of his invisible inner strength; a strength that Madame has only had a glimpse of but that which he is relying on to get him through his first few days back at school.

 

He's been allowed three days to study from home and he's sure he will drive Louis crazy in those days even if he tries his hardest not to.

 

Still. He sings the lyrics with every heartfelt emotion clamouring in his chest; the ragged rough edge of his voice a sign of his desire; a symbol of how these song words mean so much to him.

 

_I'm already torn._

 

He doesn't see Louis at first. He opens his eyes after a powerful finish, finding the other man stood there with a stunned look on his face. He goes to get up but winces, reminded of the progress he is yet to make.

 

"Lou," he pulls the buds from his ears.

 

Louis comes closer to help him up, scooping an arm around his back to ease him out of the chair. Harry's arm automatically clings to his shoulders.

 

"Hey, ballerina," Louis greets with a husk in his voice Harry's not heard before. 

 

Harry smiles at him and it feels stupidly soft.

 

"Hey, hockey jock."

 

Louis opens his mouth to protest that little nick-name but it's too late, because Harry's lips are already against his, searching for something Louis doesn't know how to give.

 

Harry smiles smugly as he pulls away, lips brushing together to keep the warmth that he'd stolen from Louis'.

 

"Ready then, rock-star?" Louis asks and Harry nods.

 

They make their way down the corridor, Louis carrying his small bag of belongings which include his tongue-stud which was taken out when he reached hospital.

 

"Do you um...do that much?" Louis asks.

 

"Do what?" Harry wonders.

 

"Er...sing?" Louis clarifies.

 

Harry's still on heavy pain medication. His answer is slow coming.

 

"Sometimes. Not much."

 

"It's nice," Louis says then huffs out a breath, grinning. "Fucking hell, who am I kidding it's _amazing_."

 

Harry shakes his head, lips pursing. He knows his voice is not amazing because Madame caught him once belting out 'What a Feeling' from _Flashdance_ while recreating the routine and she'd explained to him gently that he just wasn't good enough to pursue a Broadway career. She'd explained to him that modern dance had no place in the Royal Ballet School.

 

Harry had kept his favourite modern dance routines a secret from then on.

 

"I'm average," Harry concedes, leaning more heavily against Louis and causing the smaller man to re-adjust them slightly; still aiming for the exit.

 

"Why didn't they let you have a wheelchair?" Louis asks, to avoid a confrontation.

 

"I didn't want one," Harry explains. "I'm perfectly capable of walking."

 

Louis lifts his brows in silent disagreement since Harry's feet are heavy and he's beginning to veer left. He places a gentle hand on his chest to right him.

 

"If you crash out in the car, I'm not carrying you in the house," Louis warns.

 

Harry smiles and brushes a kiss into his hair.

 

//

 

Louis takes Harry swimming.

 

He looks like an overgrown child in small yellow swim shorts and safety floaters on his arms just in case he loses buoyancy or balance in the water.

 

His back is still very stiff and he's only allowed to float. Louis makes that very clear several times.

 

He looks vulnerable, too.

 

Louis notices the slightly startled widening of his eyes as he leans back in the water; trusting Louis to keep him afloat which Louis does, ultra gentle in his ministrations.

 

"Stop tensing," Louis tells him as he supports Harry's planking body.

 

Harry flicks his eyes to his side where Louis' holding him afloat.

 

"Shut up."

 

"You're supposed to be relaxing," Louis reminds him with a smile.

 

"Then go swim somewhere else," Harry huffs. "Stop watching me."

 

He watches Louis swallow and lower his gaze and he realises he's hurt Louis' feelings.

 

"Hey," he lets the back of his hand graze Louis' chest. 

 

Louis has already twisted to dive deep, out of his reach and he can't move now until Louis comes back (or his body starts listening to his brain's signals); whichever happens first. He slides his arms in and out slightly in the water, blinking up at the ceiling.

 

Louis comes back after a few laps.

 

"Finished floating, Lily?" He asks, wrinkling his nose.

 

"Help me stand up?" Harry pleads. 

 

Louis' hands are already supporting his lower back and pushing his feet down.

 

"Thanks," he murmurs.

 

And he thanks Louis more thoroughly in the private shower cubicle with eager, chlorine- flavoured kisses.

 

He can't help how his breath hitches or the way he makes little sounds when Louis' tongue searches for his stud and comes up missing.

 

He hasn't put it back in yet.

 

"Gonna pierce these?" Louis thumbs his nipple.

 

Harry's already halfway to being hard and he really doesn't want to stream his semen down this drain.

 

Harry swallows, biting his lip. He's quivering a bit from the touch and he kisses Louis again because he _can_.

 

"I'm already quite sensitive..."

 

Louis wishes he hadn't started this whole _sharing a shower_ thing.

 

"Jesus," he clears his throat.

 

"Would it hurt?" Harry's asks as though Louis is an expert on these matters.

 

"Bet it feels fantastic after," he smiles.

 

Harry grins back.

 

"You like that? Guys with nipple bars?"

 

Louis laughs loud and free, reaching up to shampoo Harry's hair.

 

"My ex had a belly piercing."

 

"I want one," Harry pouts from under his soapy hair.

 

"You want everything," Louis accuses.

 

"Not like...there," Harry points to his dick. "That's too much."

 

Louis washes away the suds and combs conditioner attentively through his curls with gentle fingers.

 

"Might take your mind off your back pain," Louis smirks with a chuckle earning him a wet slap on the thigh.

 

"Stop it, Tomlinson," Harry chides.

 

Louis' eyes roam his naked wet body while Harry tosses his head back and his hair slaps wetly on his head.

 

Harry bites his lip.

 

"So... your ex?"

 

It's probably the worst thing to say but he's obsessively curious as to what exactly Louis' type is. He's curious to know everything about Louis prior to when they met, really.

 

He peeks at him, wet lashes and body glistening as he cups one hand around his upper arm; posture sagging.

 

Louis rolls his eyes and tilts his head to the side.

 

"Let's get you dry first," he muses quietly.

 

//

 

It's Harry who makes hot chocolate and brings it carefully through to Louis' living room on a tray. He's slow and he doesn't bend easily but he's determined not to be waited on hand and foot.

 

Louis' sat sideways on the sofa, using the arm as a back rest and Harry wants to twist into his lap but he has to sit up straight beside him. Louis sneaks his feet into Harry's lap though so he curls his hands around his lovely legs.

 

"So," Louis breathes out after a sip of his warm drink.

 

Harry manages a weak smile. He feels tired after barely any action in the pool but his painkillers are still making him groggy.

 

"You want to know about my past?" Louis asks.

 

Harry bites his lip and shrugs helplessly.

 

"Maybe. I don't know. I mean..."

 

Louis' hand curves around his shoulder and the smaller man leans forward to push it up towards his neck where he brushes his thumb into the back of Harry's curls, relaxing him without even trying.

 

"There's not many," Louis assures him. "And I haven't got some kind of piercing kink," he adds with a derisive chuckle. "Well maybe with you, I do but..."

 

Harry glances at him, flashing a smile. Because what Louis' just said makes him sound _special_.

 

"And I know I'm your first Harry," he adds more softly, running his fingers gently down Harry's arm until he's cupping his hand which is curled around his mug.

 

He releases it so Louis can slip their hands together.

 

"I wish you'd told me so I could have made it special but when we-- _next time_ ," Louis amends slightly. "I promise you, I'll make up for that."

 

"It was perfect," Harry defends in a deep voice, pouting slightly. "And I told you. I didn't want you to do anything different."

 

Louis blinks at him, because Harry's wishes are all that matter here, but-

 

Harry seems to cotton on, brows lifting as he looks back at Louis in awe.

 

" _You_ wanted to, though didn't you?"

 

Louis shrugs with a hard swallow.

 

"Maybe. Not if you didn't want to though."

 

"Lou," Harry twists, but it draws a wince and Louis slides his feet away which frustrates him even more.

 

Louis sits close beside him, arm worming between his back and the sofa. He rubs the area gently where Harry's pain originates and the action doesn't relieve the pain from the application but the gesture fills Harry with something warm and comforting anyway.

 

"Have you ever-" Louis starts, swallowing again. "Dated? Anyone?" He forces out.

 

Harry gives a wry smile.

 

"No."

 

"Nothing?" Louis checks.

 

Harry shakes his head.

 

"Unless you count a few fumbling kisses after the odd social at the school..."

 

"What about when you go home?" Louis wonders gently. "Nobody to hook up with there?"

 

Harry bites his lip.

 

"My Mum doesn't know." he admits. "My Dad as you know, is cool with it. I used to hang around with the next door neighbor's son but we were just friends, it wasn't romantic. I was mostly too scared to say anything and then he got a girlfriend at sixteen so I guessed right on that..."

 

Louis leans into his side.

 

"I was never home long enough to meet someone," Harry adds, then turns his face a bit towards Louis. "Is it...like is it an issue?"

 

Louis shakes his head quickly, squeezing him.

 

"No. Fuck, no, it doesn't mean anything."

 

Harry turns his face a bit more, eyes darting to the side of Louis' face and away quickly.

 

"I don't like the thought of you with other guys."

 

Louis laughs and it's bright and sharp and Harry turns to face him fully with a hurt look on his face until Louis kisses his shoulder.

 

"Same!" He quickly explains. "It's the same for me, babe."

 

 _Babe_. He's used the endearment before. Harry finds his face warming with a smile.

 

"Yeah?"

 

Louis nods.

 

"When Mark was chatting you up before we even-" He starts but tapers off with a tight smile and shake of his head.

 

"Not my type," Harry reminds him. "Too muscly."

 

Louis tries to hide his answering grin.

 

"If it helps, my exes were all assholes that didn't deserve me."

 

Harry thinks that _does_ help.

 

"Did any of them break your heart?" He wants to know.

 

Louis' gaze dips and Harry knows the answer is _yes_. It feels heavy in his stomach both because Louis has loved someone and because someone he loved hurt him.

 

"My first boyfriend," he shrugs like it's nothing. "I thought I was in love with him at sixteen and thought we'd stay together through college but-"

 

Harry stares.

 

"You didn't."

 

"We didn't," he nods. "But it was puppy love. I know that now."

 

Harry's eyes stay on him for long moments after he finishes talking and Louis finds courage to look up into them, holding their enquiring gaze for as long as Harry needs it.

 

He doesn't know what the younger man is hoping to find in his soul, he doesn't know if he finds it.

 

"I have classes tomorrow."

 

"I know," Louis smiles softly.

 

Harry finishes his drink and stands up.

 

"I should go to bed."

 

Louis stands, too to give him a long hug before he follows Harry up the stairs just to make sure he doesn't fall.

 

//

 

 

"Oh you're back..."

 

Harry's leaving his last academic class of the day; a little late thanks to his back seizing up in the small classroom seat and having to carry out some minor stretching exercises once the other students had filtered out.

 

His tutor, Mr. Kellerman had to leave in a rush and Harry was enjoying the quiet until the familiar voice prickled up his spine.

 

He lifts from his touching-toes bend, flicking his hair back. He doesn't have to wear it up unless he's dancing and he won't be dancing for a while yet.

 

"We need to talk," Madame Hillier tells him.

 

"Yes, we do," he nods.

 

He needs to know if they can use the work he has done so far throughout the year to submit towards his final exams or if he has to defer for another year. He needs to know how hard he needs to push himself once he gets the all-clear to prepare for his recital.

 

She clacks into the room in her small heels, nose in the air, thin body showcased in her traditional dancer's tights and leotard; something feminine and classy about her style.

 

"You're likely to fail the whole year because of this weakness of yours," she states coolly. "And I doubt you're able to make it back into shape in time for finals..." These words are accompanied by a sneer over her shoulder.

 

She turns to face him, walking a few steps closer.

 

"What's your plan, Harry?"

 

Harry swallows, staring at her, because _she's_ supposed to be the one with the plan. She's the professional who knows how the exams work, who knows what caliber his coursework is and what he has on tape and the Dean had told him she would review everything he had and decide what he needed to do.

 

"Can I see my submissions?" He asks, then, because what choice does he have but to review his own work?

 

She steps closer, still.

 

"What submissions?"

 

His lashes flicker but he keeps his cool even when his heart feels like a horse thundering for the finish line.

 

"My tapes," he licks his lips, biting on his tongue stud. "The ones that are taken throughout the year that you pick the best of to submit for quarterly reviews?"

 

Madame slides closer still, only a foot away from him now. She has to lift her face to look at him, she's so tiny but in his mind she's the giant and he's David.

 

"Oh, the tapes? The ones that got damaged when the swimming pool leaked?" She tuts. "The store cupboard was right underneath where the lining gave way..."

 

He frowns, knowing that's not true because-

 

"The Dean told us they'd salvaged the store-room," he argues quickly, body tensing and starting a sparking pain in his back.

 

"He told the students that because we didn't expect to need them," she turns her lips down dramatically, but there's a smirk lying there when she looks back up at him. "Of course, we could come to an agreement..."

 

Harry stares at her, trying to step back when she moves into his space but his thighs hit the desk behind him.

 

"What do you mean?"

 

"Well," her lips move into a sick smile that he already wants to puke at. "I have the authority to vouch for the footage that appeared on those tapes without the exam board having to actually see them," she explains, her hand lifting to brush fingers gently over his wrist. "We could submit some of your coursework through verified papers if-"

 

Her fingers slowly curl around his wrist one by one and he's cornered; pinned against the desk not by force but my mind-play, by emotional blackmail.

 

"If what?" He pushes out of his cracked throat and the words are deep and laced with worry.

 

"If you-"

 

"Harry, you in here?" Louis' voice precedes his bouncing little body; head poking around the doorway of the classroom.

 

He tries to step back from Madame but the desk protests loudly as it scrapes the floor and he almost loses his balance. Madame sweeps away from him with a haughty look.

 

"I don't think that's appropriate, do you, Harry?" She asks as she turns towards Louis. "Oh, good evening. You must be...?"

 

Louis' eyes flick from Harry who's collapsed back onto the desk, hand clinging to the edge to steady himself; onto the thin, frail looking woman dressed head to toe in ballet gear.

 

"Louis," he introduces, pushing his hand forward although his whole body is reading the vibes in the room and he's freaking out a bit inside. "Louis Tomlinson."

 

She ignores his hand.

 

"I'll catch up with Harry tomorrow," she tells him. "Think about what I said," she adds to the other man who looks like he's about to crumble.

 

Harry keeps his gaze down as Madame leaves the room and Louis enters fully; coming over to him quickly.

 

"Are you okay, Harold?" Louis' hands curl around his arms. "You almost fell."

 

Harry turns his face away and swallows stubbornly against the tears in his eyes.

 

"I--she..."

 

Louis bites his lip at the reminder of 'she', since he had walked in on the pair of them looking decidedly intimate.

 

"Do you like girls, too, Harry?" he asks quietly, breaths quickening as a pain smarts in his chest. "It's okay if you do, I just-"

 

"No." Harry grinds out the word vehemently, nostrils flaring as his wet eyes meet Louis'. "I like guys. I like _you_."

 

Louis nods, cupping Harry's neck and stroking his hair soothingly.

 

"Okay, alright, I'm just asking since-"

 

"She tried to-" He starts but breaks off, because in reality, what had Madame _actually_ tried to do? Kiss him? Seduce him? She had held his wrist, nothing more than a friend would do and yet she wasn't a friend at all.

 

Louis nudges between his knees, kissing his temple.

 

"Let's go home?" he suggests.

 

Harry twines their fingers and lets Louis lead him there.


	6. Chapter 6

"My tapes have been destroyed."

 

Harry tells his Dad and Louis that night over a dinner that Louis made them all, just chopped up chicken with a pour-over mushroom sauce and some mashed potatoes. Harry had made him cook some frozen broccoli to go with it.

 

Des and Louis look at each other.

 

"So you have nothing for the final exam?" Des guesses.

 

Harry nods but it's obvious he's upset about it. Louis looks at Des before getting up to sit beside Harry; sliding a supporting arm around his waist.

 

"You'll still get graded. You'll still pass."

 

"Not at the grade I _deserve_ ," Harry whispers, voice breaking as his tears come.

 

Louis glances at Des.

 

"Can we talk to the school? Ask them what they'd usually do in these circumstances?"

 

"Students must get injured all the time," Des adds thoughtfully. "They can't just fail you for not being able to perform."

 

"If I'm better-" Harry manages to croak out before sniffling. "In the time they say, in three months then-then," he clears his throat and wipes his nose. "I've only got two months to prepare."

 

"It'll be _something_ Harry," Louis squeezes him. "You can prove your talent by auditioning for parts, your grades don't count for everything..."

 

"Some of them won't even see you if you're not A or above," he recounts sadly. "And I thought-I honestly thought they had the footage. That my coursework stuff would be enough but-"

 

His hands come up to cover his face as Louis rises to fetch a hair bobble from their now-shared bathroom and he stands behind Harry to carefully tie his hair back; rubbing his back gently as he sits back down beside him.

 

"I'll talk to the examining board," Des says then, a solid promise. "Maybe your mother can-"

 

"Nobody's paying them to pass me, Dad," Harry interrupts quickly; eyes bloodshot and face pink from his tears.

 

Louis' chest feels tight and he feels helpless. Something burns inside him, dying to crawl out but he's scared to say it here, in front of Harry's father and have his boyfriend hate him for it. He's afraid that the worming little feeling in the bottom of his gut is justified and that Harry really is being treated unfairly by the teacher Louis got to meet today.

 

A teacher who- _by appearances_ \- had chosen to depict that Harry had tried it on with her when she had been the one in the dominant position standing over him, with her fingers circling his wrist; something which hadn't escaped Louis' attention.

 

And he knew; he _knew_ that Harry wasn't lying about how he felt or who he'd prefer to be kissing. He knew that Harry's difficulties with his tutor went further than just being given a hard ride to meet his potential.

 

He knew in that second that Harry's difficulties were a damn sight more complicated than even what Louis had originally thought.

 

"Let's see what the examiners say," Louis breaks the tension in the air with a voice that feels like it's floating in bubbles out of his mouth. "We should probably do Harry's exercises before bed and get some rest..."

 

Des looks from his son to Louis and sighs in concession.

 

"You're right. I should get going."

 

Harry looks up at that, brows furrowing.

 

"Dad..."

 

Des pauses and comes around the table, bending to hug his son as Louis steps back. He walks the older man to the door and is surprised at his offered hand-shake.

 

"Thank you. For taking care of him."

 

Louis nods and squeezes his hand, letting Des out.

 

//

 

Louis curls himself around Harry that night; Harry's back support digging into his chest and belly but he doesn't care because Harry needs warmth and protection and Louis already feels like that's his place in the world; that's his job to carry out.

 

 

He takes him to physio the next day and goes to practice and Harry's waiting for him when he skates off the ice, sweaty and padded up but it's a nice surprise to have him standing there in the tunnel just for a quick kiss.

 

"Someone gave me  a lift," Harry tells him when he asks and Louis wants to know who this new mysterious friend is but Harry doesn't say anymore about it and Louis doesn't like to pry.

 

It's weird enough to be sharing all of their living space together when they've been used to being independent without knowing every little secret about each other's lives.

 

It's a few nights later; when Louis notices Harry's starting to relax into his surroundings- _leaving socks lying around the living room floor and crumbs on the worktop from making sandwiches_ \- that he broaches a topic he knows Harry doesn't want to discuss.

 

But it's more important than anything that they _do_ and Louis can't let Harry lose his whole world just because of a woman who's determined to ruin his life for reasons he can't understand.

 

"Harry?"

 

Louis strokes his hair back from his face as Harry lays cutely in his arms; baby-like and half-sleepy.

 

"Hmm?" His lips pout slightly; hair soft and a tiny furrow appearing between his brows.

 

Louis kisses his lower lip tenderly and feels Harry smile; sucking his upper lip back in happy return.

 

"Hey, Lou," he opens his pretty green eyes and blinks sleepily at Louis.

 

Louis swallows.

 

"What's really going on with your tutor?" He asks, quietly; voice whispery and the words fragile like Harry's happy moment; now broken and dark.

 

Louis hates himself for ruining it.

 

Harry flicks his eyes away.

 

"I told you."

 

Louis bites his lip, because Harry's told him a little bit, not much at all really and it still doesn't really explain what happened in that classroom when he walked in on them both.

 

"Is she attracted to you?" Louis asks. "Is that what it is? Did she try to kiss you?"

 

"She doesn't even _like_ me," he defends quickly, rolling away from Louis. "Have you forgotten that?"

 

Louis winces, swallowing hard.

 

"She had her hand around your wrist, Harry," Louis bravely admits what he saw. "She was leaning over you and-"

 

"I told you there would be consequences," Harry shoots out, but his words aren't facing Louis because he's turned away now, avoiding him resolutely.

 

"I don't understand why your teacher cares who you date," Louis ventures. "I don't get why she feels the need to try and own you when-"

 

"When she hates me?" Harry points his chin over his shoulder and curls up with a bitter laugh; arms folded around his body.

 

"Yeah, basically," Louis nods, propping up on his elbow to watch the side of Harry's face closely.

 

Harry's cheeks are flushed and the skin on his neck looks blotchy. He starts to move, flipping the duvet off his body.

 

"I think I'll sleep in my own bed tonight," he murmurs while Louis lets the realisation dawn on him.

 

Louis throws his legs over the side of the bed and rushes to the bedroom door, thudding it shut. It forces Harry to look at him and the sight breaks his heart but he has to know.

 

"Is she trying to get into bed with you, Haz?"

 

Harry turns his face away, but not his body.

 

"No."

 

"So she wasn't coming onto you before? She wasn't-"

 

"It's just a game!" He blurts; voice loud with anger.

 

Louis blinks, lips turning down.

 

"What kind of game?" He wants to know.

 

Harry's eyes are dark and glittery when they meet his; his body looks to be drained of energy as he gestures helplessly with gentle hands.

 

"She likes to play with me...make me feel like shit and then push me to my limit."

 

Louis knows this. He knows because that's the entire reason he'd tried to lay out Collins in the first place.

 

"You can't let her keep doing it, Harry!" Louis beseeches. "How far will you let it go? Until you can't get up again?"

 

Harry glares at him, eyes filling with unshed tears.

 

"You don't understand."

 

"Make me!" Louis throws up his hands. "Because I don't fucking understand and I need you to explain it to me..."

 

Harry shakes his head slowly; tears plopping onto the carpet by his bare toes.

 

"She has all the power, Louis. She's the one who can make or break my career..."

 

Louis lets that sink in for a moment because he believes it's true. The woman _did_ look to be influential.

 

"You'd rather she broke _you_?" He asks quietly.

 

Harry lifts a hand to use the back of it to swipe at his tears.

 

"I'm sleeping in my own room tonight," is what he says, voice thick with unspoken emotion that Louis aches to relieve.

 

He sighs, the fight gone from his body in a snap.

 

"Babe, come on. Let's share," he coaxes with a soft rasp. "I'm not mad at you."

 

"I just want to be alone," Harry insists, taking a step toward the door that Louis is blocking with his arm.

 

He doesn't hesitate to move out of the way because he'd hate to force Harry into anything. It seems like he already has one person in his life who does enough of that.

 

"Put the heater on," Louis tells him softly. "It gets cold in there."

 

And Louis knows he'll be feeling the cold tonight, too, but for different reasons.

 

//

 

"Okay...right...okay," Harry huffs out a breath, one hand on the barre which Louis had fitted in the conservatory.

 

The older man is in front of him, waiting for instructions. Harry's put on his favorite dance clothes, the peach and pastel pink tones that Madame hates so much.

 

Louis seems to like it if the reaction in his joggers is anything to go by. It's highly distracting for Harry who's forgotten the simplest moves.

 

"Just stretch a bit," Louis tells him, a hand gently curving around his side.

 

Harry arches his feet, goes on tiptoe and bends his knees into a plie. He closes his eyes and lets out a breath; straightening up and repeating the action, building up into a sequence of leg-exercises while Louis stays close; his breath brushing over Harry's skin lightly.

 

"I want to try a Pointe stand," he says.

 

Louis seems to know, without being told that he has to move. But it's the way he moves, gentle, small hands working around Harry's middle and holding his waist delicately as Harry tries to regain the ability to breathe.

 

"Lou," the word comes out strangled and raw, while Louis' fingers dig into his flesh slightly; indicating his pleasure at getting to hold him this way.

 

"Come on, ballerina," Louis murmurs gently against his ear. "Wanna see those tiptoes..."

 

Harry drops his chin to his chest and huffs out a humoured breath; nothing funny in the way his body aches now; nothing amusing about the throb that's started in his groin. How did he ever hope to focus with Louis as his aide?

 

He does focus, though, carefully getting his feet into position. And he rises slowly, not going full on Pointe just yet, but far enough to know he could do it, when his back is better. He feels elated at the relief flooding through him. He feels-

 

Louis presses a kiss to his shoulder; where his leotard scoops low on his back. He pauses from his next stretch, breath falling heavily from his lips. Louis kisses him again, further along his back near his shoulder-blade, then right in the middle and-

 

"Oh," he swallows as Louis' lips press into the back of his neck tenderly; something he can't usually do with his hair down but while it's up in his bun his neck is bare to attack and it's filling him with molten heat the way Louis is kissing him like he's the most precious thing in the world.

 

"Babe...how much longer?" Louis whispers, fingers still secure around his waist, arms still steadying Harry's weight.

 

Harry manages a mangled groan.

 

"Fuck, come here," he turns and wraps Louis into him; pressing the smaller man's lower back into the barre as he kisses him hotly; making sure to be thorough in that ministration because he'd hate Louis to be uncertain as to his feelings on the matter.

 

"Mmm-mmm..."

 

He's not even sure who's making the noises anymore, who's in control and who's hardest out of them both because there's such a fine line between them both he's sure they'd score equally in all departments.

 

"Can we-" Harry begs as he rips his mouth away from Louis' lips to press kisses into his throat instead.

 

"You're hurt," Louis reminds him gently.

 

Harry's whimper of protest is accompanied by the scrape of his teeth over Louis' collarbone.

 

"We can work around that," Louis quickly gasps, stepping back to circle Harry's wrist with his hand and both their gazes fall there, silently reminded of Madame's touch there just days prior. Louis makes a point of linking their fingers before tugging him away from the barre.

 

//

 

"Lou-god! I-"

 

Louis can't fit all of Harry in his mouth. It's already tight and so messy but he's getting off on it big time so he can't physically stop or he _will_ explode. He feels this is a fact.

 

Harry's on his back on the bed; writhing and kicking his long legs around until Louis captures his ankles to pin them down, kneeling over him to deep-throat his heat, liking the choked sounds from Harry's throat way too much.

 

He finds petty relief in straddling Harry's thigh and pressing into the slightly-hairy limb searching for friction; moaning loudly when he finds it which has Harry whimpering beneath him.

 

He wraps a hand around Harry's base and starts to stroke, knowing he's near his peak as Louis catches up fast; rocking his hips heavily against Harry's body to fulfill his own desire.

 

Louis has to wrap his arms around Harry's knees and practically pin him down to stop him arching; trying to protect his prone muscles as he finally brings Harry to bursting point; his pinnacle reached and awed gasps filling the air.

 

"Oh, god," Louis slides against the sticky wetness on Harry's thigh, his own release messily spilling out.

 

"Fuck!" Harry throws his arm over his eyes, chest heaving. "Lou--oh, _fuck_!"

 

Louis looks up quickly to make sure Harry hasn't jogged his back and he smiles when he sees that actually, he's overwhelmed by the pleasure he's just experienced.

 

"Please tell me that's not your first," Louis breathes.

 

Harry's chest is flushed and he's swallowing hard. His arm is still flung across his eyes when Louis carefully leans over him; laying against him and peeling back his limb.

 

Harry's dimpling, eyes closed and face determinedly turned away.

 

"Harry..."

 

He pops open his eyes and looks at Louis.

 

"The guys I fumbled around with didn't exactly do it justice."

 

Louis finds his lips answering Harry's wide blatant smile.

 

"I'll be sure to remember that," he grins.

 

Harry bends the knee of the leg which boasts a sticky thigh.

 

"Now I have to wash," he complains mildly.

 

Louis rolls away to help him up, looking carefully into his face as they walk to the shower.

 

"Your back's okay?"

 

Harry rolls his eyes.

 

"Can we just assume my back is fine unless I say otherwise?"

 

Louis smirks.

 

"For the rest of the night, maybe." He bargains.

 

Harry's quiet chuckle is Louis' acceptance to keep asking.

 

//

 

The distracting side-effect of living with Harry is that Louis gets to kiss him.

 

He gets to kiss him goodnight; he gets to kiss him awake and he gets to kiss him against the kitchen counter in the mornings before they have to start each of their respective days.

 

Actually, it's more Harry kissing _him_ into the counter since Louis is too afraid of hurting him and he welcomes Harry's thigh between his; letting the taller man to haul his leg upwards; hitching his calf over Harry's backside so he can lean in more.

 

Louis tries not to put any pressure on his back; tries to hold his own weight while Harry kisses him for long, blissful moments; completely uninterrupted by the rest of the world.

 

"Wish it didn't hurt so much," Harry rubs himself between Louis' thighs with a pout.

 

Louis' arms are tight around his shoulders and he loosens one to cup the back of his neck; fingers threading into his hair slightly.

 

"I love you for more than your body, Harry," he expresses; his panic evident when Harry just blinks at him, confused.

 

"You what?"

 

"Nothing," Louis hops back to extricate himself from Harry's owning hands, urgently stumbling towards the kitchen exit. "We should get going..."

 

"Louis..."

 

Louis ignores the probing tone in his name being called; snatching up his jacket and hoiking up his kit-bag.

 

"We should really get going," he says again, swallowing and closing his eyes in secret prayer that either Harry didn't hear, or he's not freaked out by it or-

 

"Louis."

 

Harry stops behind him, hand cupping his and working his fingers away from the handle on his bag. It drops noisily to the kitchen floor and Louis wants to bolt but Harry's arm is already around his middle, pulling him back against his chest.

 

Louis' breath feels too hard and fast for a static pose; his body feels like hundreds of electric shocks are fizzing around it and nothing is helping; not even Harry's steady presence behind him or his hand splaying against his belly and soothing him with a gentle circular motion.

 

"Louis..."

 

Louis really wishes he'd stop murmuring his name that way, against his ear He protests by tilting his head to the side so Harry can reach better. _Fuck_.

 

Harry's lips brush his skin but he's too wired to register it, too hyped to care what happens next because he's just told Harry he loves him and-

 

"Lou, I love you, too," he whispers, face creasing if Louis could see. "You don't have to be afraid because I love you too..."

 

"I'm not-" he starts to argue, then his breath hitches because Harry's knee pokes between his; the heavy press of his thigh nudging against Louis' ass-cheeks.

 

"You're practically sprinting out the door," Harry smirks.

 

Louis sags then, hands clutching at Harry's wrists as he settles himself back against him, widening his thighs a bit for Harry to push his knee further through them.

 

"I'd really like to kiss you."

 

Harry's voice is deep and sounds sulky at not being able to. Louis twists his torso; trapped against Harry's body but needing their lips to mesh as much as the other man clearly needs it and soon they're kissing; deep and wanton right there in the kitchen.

 

"I'm going to be late," Harry tells him as Louis' hand cups him through his jeans; eyes begging the question as to whether they take this further.

 

Louis' eyes widen and his lips part in a gasp.

 

"Fuck!"

 

He'd forgotten about school and work and--- _just life in general_. Shit.

 

Harry smiles slowly; stealing one last tender kiss from Louis' lips.

 

"Hope I don't get detention..."

 

Louis has a feeling the punishment for being late will be much worse than that.

 

He huffs a bit as they pull up outside the gates.

 

"Please think about telling someone," he asks quietly, not wanting to push Harry into a particular decision.

 

Harry twists and plants a soft kiss on his lips before he pops the door.

 

"I will," he promises before he uncurls himself carefully from the passenger seat of the car; Louis watching him disappear inside the regal doors of the school.

 

//

 

Harry knows the second he slides into his seat for his theory studies class that Madame Hillier will say something.

 

"What time do you call this?" Her voice arches over the entire room; her body twisting to focus on him.

 

"We were stuck in traffic," Harry explains, forgetting to censor his words.

 

"We?" She enquires.

 

"Me and the person who gave me a lift," he counters quietly, flicking his eyes around the room at his peers, the people he has never clicked with or been able to find comfort from.

 

"Which was?" She asks with an amused smile.

 

"My Dad," he lies, lifting a brow.

 

"That's strange...I thought your _boyfriend_ was bringing you to school," Madame goads; earning a few snickers from his class-mates and interested stares.

 

Harry hasn't exactly come out to his peers, as much as they might have assumed from his preference of wearing pink dance-wear in the studio, he doesn't appreciate his tutor informing everyone about his private life.

 

He ducks his head and avoids looking at anyone else for the rest of the class.

 

//

 

"Harry... a word."

 

He freezes at the request, half tempted to follow his classmates out of the room anyway and disappear somewhere.

 

He turns around, hovering by the door. Madame walks over and closes it gently; eyes raking over him in his jeans and jumper; a dark green knit that he'd stolen from Louis' wardrobe that morning and rolled up in his bag so the other man wouldn't notice. It's too big for Louis anyway and fitted him nicely.

 

"I'm worried about your attendance," Madame states, walking around him so that he turns to face her; until his back is facing the wall and then she walks forward until he has to step back, caging him against the flat surface.

 

"I was ten minutes late," he replies quietly. "It won't happen again."

 

"You spent three days out of class altogether last week."

 

"I slipped a disc," he grinds out, fists balling by his sides. "You pushed me, remember? It was after that rehearsal that I-"

 

Madame laughs, cold and unhumoured.

 

"You think this is my fault? I told you that you would lose focus if you dated and I was right."

 

"Louis has nothing to do with this," he states.

 

She tilts her head, eyes dipping onto his chest.

 

"Have you thought about my offer?"

 

Harry frowns. He's thought about it and he knows he doesn't want anything to do with it. He swallows.

 

"I'll rehearse for my finals and give a performance," he tells her.

 

She laughs again.

 

"You'll be nowhere near ready. Why don't you just let me sign off the verification forms and-"

 

Harry tenses as she steps closer, her hand smoothing down the front of his top.

 

"I'm not into girls, remember?" He asks, an edge to his deep, thick voice.

 

She smirks, her hand turning so that the back of it glances over the front of his jeans.

 

"I'm sure I can persuade you otherwise..."

 

He closes his eyes and tries to block it out somehow, as though not seeing it will deny what is actually happening.

 

And then it happens.

 

Madame presses against him; her weight slight and he reacts too slowly, confused and disorientated as her lips smudge his; suckling the bow of his upper lip as she presses closer and it takes him a few seconds to get his limbs to move; to acknowledge that this is not right and she shouldn't be doing this and he shouldn't have to be punished like this, because he's done nothing wrong.

 

He gasps and jolts away from the wall; a sharp pain shooting up his spine which he whines at, but grits his teeth because he grasps her wrist firmly and yanks her away from his body; dark eyes glittering with anger.

 

"Get the fuck away from me," he breathes; turning on his heel to storm out of the room.

 

//

 

Louis goes looking for Harry when he's half an hour late.

 

He knows he's probably holed up with his irrational teacher but...he's beyond late now and he's worried.

 

He goes to the classroom he found him in before, finding the petite ballet teacher in there, tidying up with a pinched expression on her face. He knocks on the open door and slides his hands into his pockets.

 

"Hi. Uh...do you know where Harry is?" He asks.

 

Madame Hillier eyes him up and down unfavourably.

 

"He's been called to the Dean's office." She states.

 

Louis swallows, a frown appearing on his face.

 

"Why? What's wrong?"

 

She smirks.

 

"He kissed me and I had to report him," she states.

 

Louis' blood runs cold, his eyes turning glacial as his teeth clench together.

 

"You _what_?" He asks slowly, just to make sure he's heard right.

 

"Right here,." She points to the spot by the door. "He got me up against the wall and tried to force himself onto me..."

 

Louis wants to take the bitch down with his own bare hands because he knows that Harry wouldn't kiss her if she were the last person on earth let alone _touch_ her.

 

He wants to say and do so much but he knows he has to walk away or blood might be drawn and he can't risk anymore misdemeanors before his season is out; his position on the roster means too much to him.

 

"Harry doesn't like women," Louis tells her slowly, like he's talking to a particularly stupid person. "In case you haven't noticed he's in a monogamous relationship with _me_ and he has been for the last three months so if you think I'm going to believe any of your _pathetic_ lies..."

 

Madame glances over him, her expression not slipping.

 

"I think we both know Harry well enough by now, Mr. Tomlinson," she muses with a silky voice that puts his hairs on end. "And he'd do anything to get to where he wants to be," she adds coolly.

 

Louis' trust falters but only for a second while her carefully schooled gaze drifts over him, unimpressed. And then the anger is back, the heat that causes him to feel so protective over Harry that will get him into trouble one day in aÂ  fight because he won't know when to stop and when to let go.

 

"Fucking bitch!" He spits, staggering forth to swipe a desk out of the way with a loud clatter; watching it hit the wall and bounce away; the angry reaction not causing the slim woman to even flinch.

 

He's about to put his hands around her throat when a sharp knock sounds on the open door and Louis twists to see who's there; his breath slewing in and out of his lungs.

 

A well-dressed man is stood there, looking over the scene in the room with concern.

 

"Ms. Hillier, what is going on here?"

 

"You better call the Police," Madame Hiller tells the man. "This man is destroying the place..."

 

The man narrows his eyes at Louis and then darts them back to the woman.

 

"I need to take you to the office now," he tells her simply. "I'll deal with this gentleman afterwards."

 

Madame looks mildly perturbed at the idea of being forced to leave the room when Louis is the unknown threat but she has no choice but to go; leaving Louis behind in the empty room.

 

//

 

Harry's lips find his before they're even through the door.

 

It's a sad, heavy kind of kissing, borne of urgency and need for comfort and it's the most meaningful kiss he's shared with the boy. He can't hold him tight enough or kiss him hard enough to convey exactly what he feels but by the way Harry's pressing him into the wall; he thinks that he's scared of losing him.

 

"Harry, mind your-"

 

"I know," Harry breathes against his ear as Louis breaks the kiss to remind him.

 

Harry had been stiff and sore walking to the car, the tension and wear on him evident since being interviewed by the Police.

 

His accusations against Madame Hillier were being taken very seriously and he hadn't been allowed to leave until he'd made a statement, Louis also giving his account of what had happened in the classroom.

 

"It's okay, babe," Louis tightens his arms around Harry's middle as he leans into him; nose pressing into his hair.

 

"It's not okay," Harry tells him in a thick voice. "She told you that I-"

 

"Shh," Louis cuts him off, cupping the back of his head. "I know it's not true."

 

Harry pulls back only to press another heart-felt kiss into Louis' lips, his whole body trembling.

 

"It's only you, Lou."

 

Louis' hands slide onto his face, lips pulling into a reassuring smile.

 

"I know."

 

"I wouldn't-" Harry swallows, face creased and earnest eyes imploring to Louis. "Not for _anything_...

 

Louis kisses him until Harry's hands slowly, reluctantly slide into his lower back and even more slowly curve over his bum. He makes a high-pitched whine in his throat and pushes his hands up under Harry's jumper; fingers tightening into his waist.

 

It reminds Harry of when he was working at the barre and Louis' hands kept him steady; it reminds him of the kissing they melted into then and the way he'd come undone under Louis' mouth.

 

His arms wrap around Louis like he might slip away at any second.

 

"I wouldn't cheat on you," he whispers into Louis' ear as Louis struggles to hold him; to keep his weight steady.

 

"Harry, I know," Louis kisses his cheek. "I know, okay. I love you."

 

Harry shakes his head, big hands coming up to frame Louis' face this time.

 

" _I_ love _you_. More than-"

 

"Shh," Louis presses a soothing kiss against his lips. "I _know_."

 

Harry clings to him more tightly and Louis doesn't let go.


	7. Chapter 7

"She's saying it was me."

 

Des is present for dinner, caught up on the events of the last two days.

 

He nudges to the edge of his seat while Louis sits beside Harry with a supporting hand against his back.

 

"What the fuck is her problem?" Des wonders, eyes flicking to Louis.

 

"I almost strangled her," he admits to the other man.

 

Des holds his gaze.

 

"Is it wrong of me to say I wish you had?"

 

Harry bites his lip, twisting a bit so that his knee presses against Louis' and Louis slides his arm fully around his back.

 

"Hey, it's okay," Louis assures his boyfriend as Harry tries to make himself smaller. "Don't twist your back..."

 

Harry's lips turn down unhappily and lays down on his back instead, laying his head in Louis' lap.

 

"I don't understand what I've done wrong," he laments, distraught. "What could I have done for her to want to do this to me?"

 

"You turned her down," Des comments from the chair while he watches his son be comforted by Louis' gentle hands; one stroking his hair and the other squeezing his hand.

 

"But she knew all along! She always made comments about my clothes and when I started dating Louis..."

 

Des' gaze flashes to him, dark and intense.

 

"Why didn't you say anything, Harry? We could have dealt with this, sooner."

 

Harry shifts uncomfortably, turning his head to look his father in the eye. He's done hiding, he's over being afraid. He has to be honest now, like he should have been all along.

 

"I was afraid," he admits quietly. "I was scared of the influence she had over my prospective career and-"

 

"The Police will investigate," Louis cuts in soothingly; trying to reassure both men. "They'll see that you're telling the truth."

 

"What if-" His lips tremble as he squeezes Louis' hand tightly.

 

"What if, what?" Louis strokes his hair back gently. The long curls pool in his lap beautifully and Louis likes the way it feels against his thighs.

 

"What if I _did_? Kiss her, I mean...I mean, I didn't instigate it but what if-"

 

"You said you didn't, babe," Louis leans over to kiss his forehead.

 

"But what if...what if some part of me thought-What if I didn't know I was doing it and-"

 

"Son," Des spoke up from across the room. "No offense, but you haven't kissed a girl since you were eight and even then it made you cry. How do you think I knew you were gay? I won't believe for a second you kissed her back no matter how badly you thought she was controlling your future..."

 

Harry breaks slowly from Louis' embrace to curl into Des' embrace; a big man playing the part of a small boy; enveloped in maternal arms.

 

"Get up before you do your back in," Des pats him between the shoulders.

 

Harry carefully lowers himself beside Louis once more, instantly reaching for his hand and laying their joined hands against his thigh once he has it in his grip.

 

"What do I do now?" Harry asks, because he truly doesn't know. He feels completely lost.

 

"Just let them do their job," Louis murmurs.

 

Des nods his agreement.

 

"Do you want me to stay in town?" He asks Harry.

 

Harry stares at him, licking his lips and glancing at Louis.

 

"No. I'll be okay, Dad. I've got Lou."

 

Des' gaze warms as it flicks over the small man sat beside his son; the first man he's seen Harry hold hands with and be affectionate with since coming out.

 

"That you do," he concedes.

 

Louis offers him an impish smile.

 

"I'm behaving, I promise."

 

Harry grins to himself.

 

"He's wooing me, Dad," he chips in. "Proper courtship," he nudges Louis' knee with his own.

 

Louis looks at him and can't contain his smile, reaching over with his free hand to squeeze his other knee.

 

Des watches them as they venture their gazes back to him, his son sucking his lower lip and Louis flushed in the face.

 

"I'll take that as my cue."

 

Louis rises to see him out but Harry gets up to take his Dad to the door this time and Louis wonders in that moment how he'll cope with not having Harry around anymore when he goes.

 

The only answer that pops into his mind is; _badly_.

 

//

 

Madame Hiller has been put on temporary leave while the investigation is carried out.

 

There are detectives at the school taking students in from each of Harry's classes and his name is being whispered about.

 

He goes to his physio sessions and Louis helps him at the barre at home but school isn't easy with students throwing accusations at him and whispering behind his back.

 

_Heard he fucked her just to get into the troupe._

_Apparently he's gay but he was a prostitute._

_He comes from a rich family; probably uses sex to get his way all the time.Â_

He keeps a dignified; if frustrated silence because he's silently mad that he's being talked about like he's a slut when he was a virgin before he met Louis and Louis is the only person he's ever committed himself to; he's the one he's shared all of his pleasurable experiences with; discounting some teen kisses and the odd fumble.

 

It hurts that these people would taint his relationship with Louis that way; would try and make this into something sordid when he's the victim and has been for quite some time.

 

The ice-rink becomes his second favourite place to go after Louis' conservatory where he works on his dance.

 

Louis' a vicious little skater and it's addictive to watch the puck whiz around the ice; ricocheting off the boards and sliding through the goal pipes to earn a honk from the buzzer.

 

He loves it when Louis' team wins and Louis' all boyish and excitable and he loves it even more when the pain in his back starts to subside and he can entertain the idea of making love with Louis again, something he has to shamefully ask permission from his specialist for.

 

He's given the green-light and that Saturday when Louis' team wins another of their unbeaten streak of games; Louis rides him in his lap; the arm-chair the perfect space to catch up on lost time.

 

"Babe," Louis breathes against his ear as he grinds down, hard.

 

Harry circles a hand around his ankle and squeezes his bum, fingers dipping between his cheeks to trace a circle around the tight muscle of Louis' hole that's stretching to take him in.

 

"Oh, fuck," he groans, knocking his head back.

 

"H...you okay?" Louis whispers fervently, distracted into a messy, hot kiss. "Does it hurt?"

 

"Shut up," Harry clenches a hand into the back of his hair to pull his head back gently; attaching his lips to Louis' neck.

 

Louis gasps and bucks his hips, twice. Harry feels like he might come from that alone.

 

"Slow down," he begs, hands sliding around Louis' hips to temper his pace.

 

Louis makes it his objective to screw Harry as slowly as possible but it's even worse, somehow. More intense and thicker, still, inside.

 

"Ah...ah," Louis kisses his jaw; fingers lost in his mane of hair.

 

They're both sticky and sweaty and half-coated in lube and saliva but it's the hottest sex Louis has had with anyone; and the hottest sex Harry's had with Louis so neither of them care much about the details.

 

"Don't-" Louis begs as Harry shifts in the way Louis knows he does when he's about to come, usually stroking himself off for his peak and shooting against his body somewhere.

 

Harry's pretty green eyes blink open; his sinfully plump lips part.

 

"What?"

 

"In me," Louis tells him, licking his lips. "Want you to."

 

Harry's eyes hold his and his hips flick up; a moan ripped from his throat. Louis thinks it might be in pain until he feels how hard Harry is inside him; how hot he throbs.

 

"Jesus, Harry..."

 

"C'mere," Harry's arms wind around him to pull him impossibly close as they shift those last few moments together, synchronized and intimate; looking into each other's eyes.

 

"Fill me," Louis tells him, licking into his mouth to flick the tip of his tongue against Harry's stud but he ends up eating Harry's gasped sounds of ecstasy as the younger man releases; right into Louis' body with a spurting sticky heat.

 

"You," Harry whispers desperately; hand clasping around Louis' hard-on between them and it only takes his thumb slipping over the head to have Louis crying out; clutching at Harry's softening heat and laughing breathily at the feeling of coming so hard.

 

They curl around each other; Louis' knees aching with the position and Harry's back beginning to smart at the exertion he's put it under.

 

They separate carefully, Louis standing on shaky legs to lead Harry to the shower and afterwards they curl up in bathrobes on the bed; kissing each other's lips in tender little sips and sighing out into each other's mouths.

 

"Lou."

 

"Hmm."

 

"What happens when I move out?"

 

It's a good question. One Louis hasn't wanted to think about. He tightens his arms.

 

"I'll still love you."

 

He feels Harry's smile against his shoulder.

 

"No, I mean-"

 

"I'll miss you," he says, because that's the truth and that's what Harry's digging for.

 

"Me too," he says, voice deep and thoughtful.

 

"Go to sleep," Louis whispers, kissing into his fluffy hair. "Your Dad's coming for lunch tomorrow."

 

Harry snuggles into Louis' side some more.

 

//

 

"There's others."

 

It's Monday evening and Des is sat in the Dean's office with Harry whilst Louis waits patiently outside.

 

Harry was asked not to attend classes for the day but to come for the meeting and he'd spent the entire day freaking out, sure he had lost his place and panicking that he'd be the one arrested.

 

The words from the Dean's mouth then, come as a surprise.

 

"What?" He snaps his head up so fast, his spine protests.

 

"The police have interviewed the entire year, Mr. Styles," The Dean addresses Harry's Dad as opposed to himself. "And eight other boys have given almost identical statements to Harry's."

 

Des looks shocked to say the least. He reaches over and squeezes Harry's knee.

 

"What does this mean for Harry?"

 

"It means that Ms Hillier has been arrested and will be charged and Harry can finish out his school year here by submitting his tapes for his final exam; due to the injury he suffered last month."

 

"My tapes were destroyed," Harry says then. "Madame told me that-"

 

"She lied," is the Dean's short answer. "We're aware she used blackmail to make the boys believe their tapes were destroyed but we still have them all."

 

Harry's breath whooshes out of his lungs, his eyes filling with relieved tears.

 

"Oh, thank god..."

 

"The school is dealing with legal claims for compensation, Mr. Styles," The Dean picks up an envelope to hand to him. "The matter is in the hand of our lawyers and you should submit your case accordingly..."

 

Des takes the envelope and slides it into his jacket pocket.

 

"Thank you," he nods curtly. "So it's over? Harry can finish his year in peace?"

 

The Dean hums his agreement.

 

"We would like to express our deepest apologies for having put you through this, Harry," The Dean broaches. "But I want you to be personally assured that we will get you the highest pass grade we can."

 

Harry swallows, nodding his head but focusing on his thighs because he can't really breathe right now, let alone speak.

 

Des stands up, but doesn't shake the Dean's hand.

 

"I hope you've learnt something," he tells the other man.

 

The Dean bows his head.

 

"I can assure you this will never happen again."

 

"Good. Come on, H," Des curls a hand around Harry's elbow to help him up.

 

Harry stumbles a bit at first; looking blindly around as they leave the office to enter the hallway where Louis is waiting impatiently; pacing up and down.

 

"Harry!" He flies to where Harry is stood, bewildered; the smaller man stopping suddenly before they impact so that he can soften the way he slides his arms around Harry to squeeze him tight. "Babe, are you okay? What happened? What did he say?"

 

Harry breaks down into sobs against the front of Louis' jumper- a lilac one he'd stolen from Harry's drawer- leaving the smaller man to look at Des hopefully.

 

"She's been doing it to others," Des shares quietly, aware of their surroundings. "They know Harry's telling the truth."

 

Louis chucks out a thankful breath, his arms crushing Harry to him.

 

"Fuck! What the-"

 

Des clears his throat as Louis' blasphemy and he smirks at the older man.

 

"Sorry," he apologises quickly, not wanting to get on his bad side.

 

"I understand," Des assures.

 

"Dad," Harry unclamps from Louis' body to hug his father. "Thank you."

 

"Just please tell me next time," Des rubs his back, the body of his son almost twice his size now but Harry will always be his boy.

 

Harry nods against his shoulder, sniffling as he pulls away. He sways a bit where he stands.

 

"Can I go home now?" He asks.

 

Des and Louis exchange a look.

 

"Where's home?"

 

Harry looks surprised at the question, his cheeks burning a second later.

 

"I mean-Louis' house," he swallows. "You know, like home right now..."

 

Des purses his lips as Louis takes Harry's hand and twines their fingers.

 

//

 

"You might as well stay here until the end of the year."

 

Des has watched Louis make tea for his son, lay out his favourite biscuits and then coddle him incessantly when he finally takes  a seat beside him. He's amused at the level of intimacy in their relationship and realises that's what he missed with Harry's mother. _Intimacy_.

 

Harry, who is still pouty but beginning to brighten under Louis' attention, stares at his Dad.

 

"What?"

 

"It doesn't make sense for you to go back to your dorms for a couple of months. And Louis' still taking you to physio so..."

 

"Dad..." Harry frowns.

 

"Louis is doing such a good job taking care of you," he adds.

 

Louis tries not to smile; avoiding Des' gaze.

 

"I'm trying..."

 

Harry stares at his Dad.

 

"You trust me?" He asks.

 

Louis ducks away to re-fill the kettle, giving them a private moment.

 

"I always have," Des muses.

 

"But-"

 

"It's not like either of you can get pregnant," he jokes.

 

Harry manages a pinched smile, swallowing heavily.

 

"But what about Mum," he finally whispers; eyes flicking to Louis and back to his Dad.

 

Louis' back is to him as he busies himself with filling the tea pot.

 

Des swallows, too, his expression sobering.

 

"I'm sorry that your mother can't accept who you love, Harry but I _can_. And I can also see how happy you are here and how well-cared for you'll be. My job as a parent is to tell you that when you maybe can't see it yourself so..."

 

Harry sneaks a look at Louis again.

 

"I didn't know what I was going to do when I had to go..."

 

Des smiles.

 

"Now you don't have to worry about it. And don't worry about your mother, let me deal with her."

 

Harry nods, eyes wide.

 

"Thanks, Dad. For everything."

 

"I've got to go," Des stands up. "Thanks for the extra tea, Louis, sorry I can't stay..."

 

Louis turns, walking over to hug the other man which seems to surprise him a bit.

 

"Thank you," he repeats Harry's sentiments.

 

"That goes both ways," Des assures before Louis sees him out.

 

//

 

Harry starts to bloom like a proverbial flower once the whole sordid incident with Madame Hillier dies down. 

 

He has a new teacher who instantly sees his talent and works with him on his basic exercises although Louis remains his favourite warm up partner  (mostly thanks to the amount of kisses involved in his sessions as incentives). 

 

Harry starts to swim again and watches Louis skate whenever he can; still stuck on the sidelines until he gets the green light to join him.

 

He starts wearing pink again and Louis starts bringing home flowers just for him to tuck behind his ear and one day he brings home an entire crown of blooms that he's seen on a market stall in town that Harry instantly falls in love with.

 

He's the same person but he's different. He's freer and he's more secure and he should hate that it's because of Louis because he feels mildly dependent but if Louis doesn't mind then neither does he.

 

"Lou..." Harry has taken prime position in Louis lap as he flicks through his phone; Louis catching up on the sports pages of the paper.

 

"Hm?" The hand not holding the paper rubs his back gently.

 

"Can we go on a date?"

 

Louis flicks the paper down and looks at Harry.

 

"I thought-"

 

Harry nods. He hasn't wanted to go out for fear of being seen. He still hears whispers of 'gay-boy' as he walks the halls of the school, he still has the odd student that thinks he slept with his teacher for a step-up. And he still has class-mates who think he has a gilded life, all paid for by his mother.

 

As of now Louis is the one who provides for him; although his Mum still pays for school and his designer wardrobe. Why not, she doesn't do anything else useful in his life?

 

"I don't care what people think," he shifts a bit so he's straddling Louis' thighs; hands cupping Louis' neck and thumbs brushing his jaw gently. "I get called names no matter what I do so-"

 

"Babe," Louis frowns, hurt flickering across his features. "Why didn't you tell me?"

 

Harry shrugs, his lips stretching tightly.

 

"I'm not going to stop getting a lift with you just because some privileged ass-hole calls me a gay boy," he sighs. "You're my boyfriend and I'm proud of you."

 

Louis' arms slink around his middle; drawing him in.

 

"I can teach them a thing or two if you like?"

 

Harry smiles, rolling his eyes.

 

"Pretty sure violence is frowned upon."

 

Louis leans up to kiss him; tempting Harry into a long; consuming kiss.

 

Louis' hand squeezes his waist slightly as he pulls back, silently asking Harry if he's in any pain. He smiles slowly at Louis and leans him to kiss him again, silent reassurance that he's not.

 

 


	8. Chapter 8

 

Louis' mind isn't quite on the task at hand when he hits the ice for practice.

 

His mind, quite frankly, is still in the gutter.

 

Because Harry had fucked him into the bed so perfectly he's actually wondering if it's too soon to propose marriage. It just gets more intense every time they come together and he's sure his brain will explode one day, if it hasn't already.

 

He rolls his eyes as he misses a pass and the puck slides past him.

 

"Come on Tommo!" His team-mates cajole him with rowdy roars of laughter.

 

Niall skates up and elbows him gently.

 

"Distracted, Lou?" He smirks.

 

Louis huffs.

 

"Just a bit."

 

"Not guessing who by."

 

"Harry's staying," Louis tells him. "Until the end of term."

 

Niall's brow rides up his forehead but it disappears under the rim of his helmet and they're forced apart when the practice-game activity comes their way once more.

 

"So you're in love," Niall says much later, when they're sat on the bench drying off after showers.

 

Louis darts his eyes up, flicking them over his team-mates to check if they've heard but they're all rushing to get ready; impatient to see their loved ones. Louis knows the feeling; knows the soft wanting ache you get in your chest when you miss someone after being apart for only mere hours.

 

He looks at his friend and doesn't try to hide the feeling.

 

"I think in probably am, yeah."

 

"You think?" Niall snorts, poking Louis in the side and drawing a reluctant, shy grin from the other man. "You should see your face when you talk about him, mate..."

 

Louis slides him a rueful glance.

 

"And when ya look at him-"

 

"Alright Niall, thank you," Louis stands up, slinging his towel around his waist to cut his friend off from whatever he was about to say.

 

Niall laughs and playfully smacks his ass.

 

"Hurry up and get dressed, your boy's outside waiting for ya," Niall tells him and Louis smiles bemusedly; sticking his head out of the dressing room doors to peer into the tunnel; not seeing Harry there.

 

"Liar!" He calls to his Irish team-mate as he moves to pull on his clothes anyway.

 

"He's in the stands with a guy who looks like a model," Niall tells him as he pulls on his own clothes.

 

Louis feels a funny sensation swirl in his belly. Harry came to meet him with another guy? A good-looking guy?

 

He gathers his things and quickly heads out, curiosity pricking his skin.

 

He rounds the corner of the benches; eyes lifting into the seats until they fix on the shape he knows; long lean legs wrapped in skinny jeans with pointy boots and a bright yellow jumper with black stripes around the sleeves and hem.

 

Harry looks gorgeous; his hair tied up and a relaxed smile on his face as he gestures a story with his hands; his lips moving to describe his words in animation. Louis swallows watching him; eyes drifting over his strong shoulders and soft cheeks before flicking to the boy next to him; a smaller guy with dark skin and darker hair.

 

"Lou," Harry stands up on seeing him; steadily working his way down the steps until he's in front of him and Louis has to open his arms to accept the incoming bear-hug. "Hi," Harry breathes against his ear.

 

Louis can't help his smile, tucked over Harry's shoulder.

 

"Hey, babe..."

 

The other man follows down the stairs more slowly and smiles bashfully at Louis until Harry pulls away.

 

"Um, this is Zayn," Harry introduces, sweeping a hand across the space between them. "The one who gives me lifts after physio..." He adds in explanation.

 

Suddenly it clicks with Louis, how Harry had looked that tiny bit happier after his first session when he'd appeared at the rink without Louis' help.

 

"Oh," Louis swallows back his initial jealousy at how strikingly handsome Zayn is and sticks out his hand. "Hey, good to meet you."

 

"You too," Zayn smiles with a knowing smirk. "I've been asking for the last month to get to meet this bloody Louis he won't shut up about..."

 

Harry ducks his head a bit, sticking his tongue out at the dark-haired lad.

 

"Shut up. He doesn't need to know that I talk about him all the time..."

 

Louis grabs Harry's hand and squeezes it.

 

"Pretty sure I'm exactly the same," he murmurs.

 

Harry looks at him with a dimpled smile that makes Louis' heart skip.

 

"Zayn's a street dancer," Harry tells him then. "He's got a hamstring injury so we buddied up for the physio sessions."

 

Louis looks between them and nods his understanding.

 

"That's great. Why don't you join us for dinner?" Louis extends to the other man.

 

Zayn gives Harry a warm look.

 

"I think I'll skip it, if you don't mind. Don't fancy being a third wheel..."

 

At that moment, Niall saunters up and leans on the wall.

 

"I wouldn't if I were you either, mate," he chips in.

 

Louis turns to stare at his friend.

 

"When have you _ever_ -" he starts, only to have Niall curl into cackling laughter.

 

"Is this a thing then?" Zayn lifts his brows, more interested since the appearance of the blonde. "Team meal?"

 

Louis flicks his eyes to Niall and back to Zayn; wondering how wrong it is to feel relieved that the other man doesnt have designs on his boyfriend.

 

"Shall we then?" He asks the three. "Foursome?"

 

They all head out to the car park together.

 

//

 

"Babe...fuck... _easy_.."

 

Louis' voice is that raspy high pitched kind of version; the one Harry knows to mean they're doing something he likes a _lot_. An awful lot.

 

He's buzzing himself; a few too many strawberry daiquiris and Louis looking sinful in tight jeans and now just his vest; his grey sweater stripped away by Harry when they'd got into the heated bar.

 

It's a strip bar that Niall and Zayn wanted to go to and there's plenty of girls dropping their clothes but Louis has found a private little seating area; large round seats swirled in gauze for privacy and he can only guess what customers usually get up to inside the pretty twisted surroundings.

 

Right now, Harry's rutting against his thigh while his small hands clutch at his hips, trying to keep his squirming body steady but it's so hard when Harry's so damn hot; his ridged hardness pressing outrageously against his zipper for freedom, his swollen lips tainted red from his drink and his feverish skin pressing to Louis' neck with small whines of want and begged breathy whispers of being denied.

 

He brushes his thumbs against Harry's hips; pressing a kiss into his chest as he rises up to find friction against Louis' body.

 

"Want me to make you feel good?" He asks with a swallow.

 

Harry's whimper goes right to his groin; surging more desire into his already-hard dick and he doesn't think about anything but Harry as he unbuttons the boy's jeans; yanking the zipper down to get it to give under the tenting material.

 

"Look at you," Louis murmurs as he tugs down Harry's boxer-briefs to curl a hand around him; hot and so achingly stiff, he's surprised Harry hasn't come already.

 

"Lou, please," he chokes out, green eyes darkening as he tries to crowd closer on his knees.

 

"Where?" Louis asks as he starts to stroke slowly at first, then slipping a thumb over the head.

 

"You," Harry bites his lip against another throaty sound.

 

Louis smirks up at him; seeing how ruined he already is; hips pulsing against Louis' rhythm; his drunken body fighting so hard to keep focused on what he's doing so that he can come from his touch.

 

"How about my chest?" Louis leans back a bit to tug at the neckline of his vest; showcasing a small smattering of hair there.

 

It makes Harry pout and lean over him to lick between his pectorals; biting into the valley of his breastbone.

 

"Harry, Jesus Christ, give me a chance," he mutters breathily; falling back onto one elbow while he fights to keep his hand steady around him; quickening his pace.

 

"Lou...wanna..." He shuffles up, climbing over him slightly and digging his knees into Louis' sides as they go horizontal and Louis catches the meaning right away and doesn't even bat an eyelash.

 

He meets Harry's gaze under half-lidded eyes.

 

"Make me dirty," he asks only, his free hand curving over Harry's thigh as he nudges up closer, the apex of his thighs now resting against Louis' chest.

 

Harry could dip into his mouth, could fuck down his throat and Louis opens his lips and extends his tongue to showcase the possibility but Harry just kisses him; sloppy and sweet until his hand covers Louis' over his hard-on.

 

"Can I?" He whispers.

 

Louis gets an instant pang of disappointment from not doing it how Harry likes but it's gone in the second Harry groans loudly on touching himself.

 

"Touch yourself, Lou," he begs and-

 

 _Okay_ , it's really quite hot, Louis thinks as he shoves his hand down the front of his own jeans to stroke; not bothering to undo his clothes.

 

"Ah...ah!"

 

Harry curls fingers into Louis' short hair and tightens them gently; subtly forcing his head back so that Harry can watch his throat bob when he swallows; can see every sound that falls from his lips.

 

"Stick out your tongue when I say," he murmurs; not losing the heat of the moment with his instructions; if anything only making Louis that much weaker to his desire.

 

"Babe, I-"

 

Louis thrashes his hand quickly against his own heated skin; feeling the pulsing erupting like a volcano; rushing heatedly forth and spilling over in angry spurts which soak his underwear and his hand alike.

 

His choked-out moans seem to prompt something in Harry who slows his hand right down to thrust into it instead and when he gasps _'now'_ Louis almost forgets what he asked for all those minutes ago when he was still in the moment and not heady with his orgasm.

 

He sticks his tongue out before Harry can ask again and then it's raining; sticky and hot over his eyelids and cheeks and onto his tongue. He swipes it over his lips, licking up the bitter taste of Harry's seed.

 

"Oh, oh, Lou..."

 

Harry's orgasm feels like it rides out forever but soon Louis feels thumbs swiping gently over his eye-lids, cleaning him of the liquid shot there from moments before.

 

Harry shuffles back to tug him up so he's sitting, nearly, albeit melted into the back of the seat with Harry's form curled over him; arms around his shoulders clinging on for dear life.

 

"How do you-how do you do that?" Harry pants, mystified.

 

He's shaking and Louis makes sure to stroke sticky fingers through his hair soothingly; squeezing the thigh he hasn't yet let go of.

 

"How do _you_?" He accuses back.

 

When Harry looks at him Louis thinks there is no way on earth they can walk out of there in front of everyone. They'll have to sneak out the back and call a cab.

 

"I think it's something to do with being in love with you," Harry answers seriously. "I've never had orgasms like these before."

 

Louis can't help his grin and following chuckle; since Harry's half-drunk and talking rubbish but it's beautiful rubbish all the same.

 

"Is that so?"

 

Harry nods earnestly.

 

"Only you get me this hot Louis. It's only you that I come that hard for..."

 

"Fuck," he hisses, feeling a twitch in his jeans that has no right to be there. "Can you save the seduction for when we get home?"

 

Harry smiles then, big and wide and Louis works on his clothing; zipping him back into his jeans.

 

"You're covered in come," Harry tells him happily.

 

Louis smirks.

 

"Think we need to sneak out of here."

 

Harry leans forward to kiss him slowly, flicking his tongue and dragging his stud over Louis' tongue roughly.

 

"Want you in me," he says in aÂ  deep voice, half broken from the dryness there.

 

Louis gets them up in a second, dialling a taxi on his phone.

 

//

 

They haven't done this before.

 

Louis' always been the one on the receiving end, he's always been the one split wide open by Harry's enviable dick and he's happy, so happy with that.

 

But Harry's whispered words are like a pretty secret he's been too scared to share. And the fact it's Harry who has said them makes his heart thrash painfully in his chest.

 

He worries on the ride home that Harry's too drunk, that he's consumed too much alcohol to give proper consent but he sobers up, sipping water and skipping around the house happily singing when they arrive; working off some alcohol-fuelled energy.

 

They even sleep for a few hours until the sun rises and then they fold together slowly; tentative and achingly meaningful kisses pressed into each other's lips.

 

Harry's a dream to open up. He loves taking Louis' fingers, gasps and looks delighted at each stretch. When Louis starts to scissor them; he smiles and giggles at the ticklish sensation; pushing back to get more.

 

Louis almost loses himself before he's even got inside.

 

"Lou...Lou, please," Harry's been murmuring his begging pleas into Louis' ear for ten minutes now; legs wrapped around his middle and feet crossed against Louis' lower back.

 

Louis lines up and leans forward; not entering him but pressing his weight enough into Harry that he feels the pressure of the head of his dick.

 

"Babe? Is this still okay?" He whispers.

 

Harry groans and writhes.

 

"Please..."

 

Louis rearranges his legs around him slightly, tucking his knees up into his sides and then he's digging his knees into the bed to gain enough anchorage to thrust. He goes slow at first; easing past the rim which feels too-tight to broach.

 

His eyes flick to Harry's face. Harry's lashes flutter on his cheeks and his lips part so Louis kisses them, sweetly. He doesn't ask if Harry's okay because he knows. He knows it hurts a bit at first and that it's not all pleasure. But soon the discomfort will ease and Harry will-

 

"Can you-" Harry's brow furrows and Louis slides away; breath caught in his throat.

 

"Did I hurt you?" He asks, cupping Harry's face and kissing over it.

 

"Lou..." Harry tries to wriggle away. "Louis!" He giggles breathily, forcing Louis to stop.

 

Louis waits, lip bitten.

 

"I was going to ask if you could go deeper," he says then, throat gritty.

 

Louis' lips part.

 

"Oh."

 

"Yeah, oh," Harry smiles. "So can we like...try again?"

 

Louis slips two fingers back into him and widens them apart; gently easing himself back into the wet heat; sliding his hand away and securing his arms around Harry's middle.

 

"I love you so much," he tells him.

 

Harry pulls him down into a kiss; arching his hips off the bed and Louis naturally slides deeper; chasing the feeling with a push from his hips.

 

"Oh, baby," Louis breathes out as he rocks in deep; body quivering at the sensation.

 

"Lou," Harry chokes; ankles tightening around him to stop him slipping out.

 

"I've got you," Louis kisses over his chest and pulls him in close.

 

"I can't believe-" Harry sighs, tears escaping the corners of his eyes as Louis stays deep in him; shaking but careful not to move.

 

"It's good, hm?" He hums against Harry's chest, flicking his tongue over Harry's nipple.

 

Harry's already told him of his plan to pierce them for his 20th birthday and Louis licks over the nub, gently grazing it with his teeth in silent approval of that plan.

 

It has Harry moaning and squirming beneath him so he eases out and sinks back in; slow again with a twist of his hips screwing him in.

 

"Oh, oh!" Harry's eyes flutter again; lashes squeezing against his cheeks as his eyes shut tightly.

 

"You like that," Louis breathes; repeating the action; all slow and heavy twists of his hips. "So pretty, babe..."

 

Harry's mouth opens but no words come out. As Louis carefully sets up a slow, achingly frustrating rhythm, his eyes glass over and his body opens up to Louis easily; clutching him close whenever he can.

 

He comes hard, gasping Louis' name as Louis shoots into him and it's so very intimate and filthy; so very loving to share themselves that way; it makes Harry want to cry.

 

And he does; embarrassingly enough, start to cry when Louis eases out of him to tidy up some small part of their mess while they come down from their high.

 

"Hey, hey..." Louis crawls beside him and cups his face. "Do you hurt? I thought I was gentle, Harry...fuck, what-"

 

Harry curls into him and begs to be held which Louis does instantly, curling around him and slotting their bodies to fit into a tight embrace while he overcomes the emotions; the intensity of what they just shared.

 

Louis though, is kissing his hair and rubbing his back with a worried tension in his body that wasn't there before.

 

"Lou...it was so good," he sniffles, pushing his hair off his face to look at him.

 

"What? Louis' eyes trace over his face quickly. "Why're you crying then?"

 

"I'm so overwhelmed," he bites his lip as his cheeks burn. "It's more than I ever expected."

 

Louis kisses his forehead.

 

"It should always be like that," he murmurs. "Whoever you're with...if it's not then don't do it. You should always, always feel this good..."

 

Harry clears his throat, hesitant eyes flicking over Louis' face.

 

"Was it good for you?" He wonders.

 

Louis purses his lips and flicks his eyes away; a tiny flush staining his cheek bones.

 

"Best I ever had," he promises quietly as Harry stares into his averted eyes.

 

"Promise?" Harry whispers. "You're not just saying that?"

 

Louis leans down to kiss his mouth softly; with the tenderest of lips.

 

"It's something to do with being in love, I'm told..."

 

Harry grins; his happiness bubbling up in his chest.

 

"We can do this again," he offers shyly.

 

Louis smirks, lifting a strand of Harry's hair away from his eyes where it's caught in his lashes.

 

"Don't tell Niall, he thinks you're the D man," he shares.

 

Harry laughs at that; winding his arms around Louis' waist to bring him into his body.

 

"But you've been a D man for so long now, Lou..." He teases with crinkled eyes.

 

Louis kisses him, because he can. The morning stretches on and they lay together in contented silence. Louis feels Harry's fingers draw lazily across his shoulders and fidgets a bit, sliding his knee over Harry's and poking his toe against his foot.

 

"What's the plan after graduation?" He wonders.

 

Harry shrugs.

 

"Get a job."

 

"With a troupe?" He asks.

 

"Maybe," Harry says. "I've got a few meetings in the summer with prospective employers and the opportunities range from Broadway shows to teaching classes..."

 

"Teaching?" Louis looks up; admiring the way Harry's cheeks looked flushed after sex.

 

Harry nudges a shoulder up.

 

"Haven't thought about it before but it might be worth thinking about."

 

"You can't waste your talent teaching people, Harry," Louis sighs. "You deserve to show off your beautiful long body and your stunning moves..."

 

Harry kisses his mouth.

 

"Thank you for the unbiased compliment but-"

 

"Don't tie yourself here because of me," Louis adds quickly, more quietly than Harry can hear but he hears it anyway.

 

He feels a strange smarting in his chest. He swallows.

 

"Oh." His frown is instant; lips turning down.

 

"No, that's not what I-"  Louis leans onto one elbow to kiss him but it feels forced, somehow. "I want you around," he promises. "But don't settle for second best because of me. I want you to go for everything you would have if you hadn't met me and I'll-I'll follow you, okay?"

 

Harry thinks for a moment because it's really _not_ okay that Louis will give up everything for him but he won't let Harry do the same and this isn't some stupid age thing because Louis is only three years his senior so he's still young enough to realise his dreams, too.

 

"I promise I'll think about each option carefully before making a decision," is what he settles on saying.

 

Louis looks at him for a long time before settling for a resigned sigh of his own.

 

"Alright."

 

Harry kisses his nose with a smile.


	9. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all you lovely people or reading, commenting and investing in my characters! I love you all and I wish you knew how much your support means to me. On the days I really struggle with the world, you are my only light.
> 
> Ang

Louis feels incredibly nervous.

 

He's been in empty darkened halls several times over the last year; watching his boyfriend practice for performances of varying degrees and then returning when they were full to the brim; proudly claiming his deserved front-row seat to watch Harry shine like the meteor that he is.

 

Louis thinks he goes beyond star status, burning a path in everyone's wake.

 

Tonight is no different except for two things.

 

One; Harry had asked him to sit at the back because he's so incredibly anxious about his performance tonight. Louis isn't going to argue with him, as long as he's allowed in the theatre, he will sit in the aisle if required.

 

Two,  this is Harry's first major role on stage as the male lead. And he had woken up shaking which Louis had tried to remedy by kissing him soft but it hadn't been enough of a distraction.

 

He'd snuck backstage to leave Harry twelve pink roses on his dressing room table and Harry had caught him at it; pulling him into a loving hug in his pink robe and kissing him for long; meaningful moments.

 

Louis enjoyed those kisses maybe the most because they spoke of Harry's vulnerability and fear. They told him Harry was afraid of falling again; afraid of _failing._

Louis had given him a devilish grin as he'd slipped a sneaky hand onto Harry's behind (encased in his dance tights) and told him to kill it; he had whispered against his ear that he'd come backstage after to tell him how well he'd done.

 

Harry's blush and heavy swallow were enough to convince Louis he'd get through his show without issue and he gently pushed his way through the other attendees to get to his seat, apologising for his late entry.

 

No sooner had he sat down than the lights dropped; the curtains lifting and the stage lighting up, piece by piece.

 

He sucked in a breath and felt like he held it for the whole hour Harry spent on the stage.

 

//

 

He's majestic of course. Beautiful to watch and breath-takingly exquisite.

 

Louis barrels towards his dressing room through the hoardes of fans waiting outside and asks the security guard to move them into the auditorium so that he and Harry can have some privacy.

 

He pauses at the door, knocking on it lightly.

 

"Who's there?" Harry's voice carries strongly through the thick wood.

 

"It's me," Louis calls. "Your favourite stalker..." he tags on, smiling wanly as Harry rips the door open.

 

Louis tilts his head and goes to step inside, prepared to take things gently with Harry after his show; practiced in how to deal with him once he's performed.

 

Harry often leaves his heart right out there on the stage, sometimes trampled and bloodied; sometimes bruised and a little bit hurt. Louis likes to think he picks it up and cares for it in tender hands, restoring it to its rightful owner with loving kisses and gentle embraces to remind the younger man just how amazing he is.

 

Harry would often transition from exhausted emptiness into dimpled happiness with just Louis' influence alone. He plans the same treatment tonight except Harry has other ideas.

 

"Get in here," Harry growls, arms wrapping around Louis under his ass and across his back, hauling him inside as his foot flicks out to kick the door shut; Harry already on a journey across the room before Louis can properly object.

 

"The lock, Haz," He gasps, arms quickly tightening around Harry's shoulders to hold on as he's carried, rather roughly, across the room.

 

"In a minute," Harry whispers, sucking Louis' lower lip into a kiss which starts out sweet and soon turns heated, Harry's long tongue flicking against his and pressing his stud against Louis' tongue heavily.

 

Louis sighs a bit, an appreciative hum in his throat as he softens in Harry's strong arms; lamenting his weakness for this man when he should be the one doing the bossing around here.

 

He whimpers a bit when his bum brushes a surface and he automatically wraps his legs around Harry's middle.

 

"Lou," Harry breathes against his ear, hands curling around his thighs. "I need to lock the door..."

 

Louis rips off his jacket and t-shirt while Harry takes giant steps towards the door; long hair trickling down his back in damp curls; his long fingers flipping the lock swiftly and then he turns and stares at Louis who's kicking off his jeans; heels digging at the tight cuffs on his ankles.

 

Harry comes closer; dressed only in his boxers and his dressing gown which he shrugs off; tucking his thumbs under his underwear to scoop them down over his hips, the tip of his tongue lathing over his lips as he stalks forwards Louis with intense eyes.

 

"Haz," Louis' breath catches when Harry reaches him completely naked; big hands sliding around his waist to draw him closer, fingers spanning on his back.

 

Louis' head falls back, Harry's lips sucking at his exposed skin; body nudging closer between his thighs and subtly brushing against him; nearly-naked but for his boxers.

 

Harry's hands soon scoop under his boxers band to cup his ass; roughly shoving the material down so that he can step back to peel away the cotton, flinging them behind him where Louis watches them land on the dressing room sofa.

 

His eyes flick back to his boyfriend; soaking in the dark hunger of Harry's gaze; the thrashing breaths from his lungs and the flushed heat of his passion blooming over his chest and onto his cheeks.

 

"Jesus," Louis rasps, pulling Harry closer with his feet and securing his legs around him again; hand digging into the back of his hair to tug his head low for a kiss; earned with a heavy kind of precision that Louis could cope without right now.

 

He needs Harry _now_ , inside him, hot and deep. He needs to know what's instigated this little session and what he can do to make it happen again. He needs to know that Harry's okay and that he's not coping with something darker by fucking the anger out of his body and into Louis' in some mis-placed process.

 

"Babe," Louis swallows as Harry reaches over his dressing table for a small bottle of lube.

 

"Hm," Harry looks at Louis as if working out how he's going to do this without changing position.

 

"Are you good?" Louis checks breathily, squeezing Harry's biceps which are pronounced from their use during the show.

 

Harry's back between his thighs; leaning Louis gently back against the table and tugging his hips forward to expose his ass enough that he can reach. He's focused on slicking up two fingers; circling Louis' rim gently with a sucked-in breath of excited relief.

 

"I'm good," Harry confirms in a deep, slow voice that Louis feels in his lower belly. The feeling it gives him tightens his dick.

 

"Hm, you like that?" Harry's brow arches as he nudges a finger inside; not waiting long to slip the other in beside it.

 

Louis can't remember the details after; can only barely remember how breathless he gets and how high-pitched his voice goes when Harry leans over him to suck a kiss into his belly.

 

It's the latter moments that are burned into Louis' brain. Like the way Harry's hands feel so hot and big on him. The way his lips roam teasingly over Louis' skin and his voice churns out low-pitched rumbles that have Louis wanting to peak far too soon.

 

It's the way Harry slides into him, hot and incredibly thick. The way he pulls Louis gently toward him so that they're close, close enough to kiss with tongues and close enough to tangle fingers into each other's hair.

 

Harry rocks into him; slow and hard; knees knocking against the dressing room table as Louis squeezes his thighs to keep Harry inside; burning him with white-hot heat from the inside out.

 

"Harry!" He gasps; gripping his shoulder to steady himself.

 

Harry looks into his eyes as he thrusts into him, steady and deep. His breath brushes Louis' lips, his eye lashes flicking against Louis' own.

 

Harry's groan is enough to have Louis weakening in his arms.

 

"Hm, so good," Harry murmurs; driving himself towards his edge to tumble over it; the intensity of his orgasm shocking hitched gasps from his throat as he releases inside Louis' body. "Lou! _Oh_."

 

Louis lets out a disbelieving huff of laughter; striping his seed over Harry's chest and stomach as he too finds his peak; breaths slowing down as he clings to Harry for safety.

 

"Mm," Harry presses kisses into Louis' temple, moving his lips to his cheek and then his mouth for a dry, chaste peck.

 

Louis pushes his torso up to secure his arms around Harry's shoulders, pressing their bodies close together as he sighs.

 

"God, it never gets old," he murmurs.

 

He feels Harry's smile ghost his skin.

 

"Gets better every time," Harry confirms Louis' inner-most thoughts.

 

"You did kinda pounce on me," Louis pulls away a bit to comment.

 

Harry merely smiles satedly; a man clearly happy he's had his fill of sex.

 

"You do look kinda hot tonight," he replies with a shrug.

 

Louis tucks some of his cascading hair back.

 

"Is that all this was?" He asks quietly.

 

Harry blinks eyes shifting away as he swallows.

 

"Yeah, of course. What else would it be?" He gently eases himself from Louis' body and helps Louis slide off the table.

 

Louis takes his hand and squeezes it gently.

 

"Shower?" He suggests.

 

Harry smirks.

 

"My second one of the evening."

 

//

 

After Harry's met his fans- the die-hard ones who wait the hour it takes him to dress and be ready for public consumption- he gets into Louis' car and lets the older man drive them home.

 

Harry basically never moved out after the summer and nether of them officially discussed it but he's living there full-time and he loves it, loves how easy it is with Louis and how secure he feels.

 

The problem is, that security is slipping away as his mind works on an issue that he hasn't yet voiced; his eyes furtively checking Louis' profile as he drives them home, wondering if the other man really can sense that something is wrong purely from Harry's need for him earlier.

 

Harry had wanted him; had wanted to consume him and remind Louis that no matter how big his role on stage, no matter how many groupies might wait outside, Louis is his number one every time.

 

And that's become more important than ever because of what he has to say.

 

"Okay, spill it," Louis tosses his car keys into the dish on the hall table and leads Harry to the kitchen where he starts to make tea.

 

"Hm?" Harry follows him with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets; a t-shirt and lavish designer cardigan on his upper half and his new buckled boots on his feet.

 

"What's going around that pretty head of yours?" Louis demands softly.

 

"I'm not pretty," Harry pouts.

 

"No, you're beautiful," Louis smiles audaciously, flicking the kettle switch to 'on'.

 

Harry dimples and tries to decide if he wants to wrap Louis into some long, hot kisses or if he wants to have this conversation now. He moves to curl him close; lips coaxing Louis' open.

 

"Don't think that distraction will work," Louis whispers as Harry pulls away when the kettle clicks off on full boil.

 

"Fine," Harry releases him to turn towards the living area; plopping down on the sofa.

 

Louis lowers beside him more gently, sliding their mugs onto the coffee table.

 

"What's up?" He asks.

 

Harry thinks about his answer. Because he doesn't really _know_. He just knows he's been offered a great job in Swan Lake and he's wanted to dance in that since he was little and first put on a tutu.

 

"I've been offered a job," he says.

 

Louis' face takes on the predictable shine of happiness.

 

"Haz! That's great! What is it?"

 

Harry winces, fiddling with his fingers.

 

"It's Swan Lake," he shares quietly.

 

Louis goes quiet and gapes.

 

" _Fuck_. Fuck, Harry...you've wanted to do this since you were th-"

 

"Three," Harry nods his confirmation.

 

"Then babe, why-?" Louis leans over and cups his knee in that way he does when he magically knows Harry needs comfort. "Why do you look so sad?"

 

Harry smiles but it's tiny and it's a little bit aggrieved; a dig forming between his brows.

 

"Because it's in New York, Louis.Â  They want me to perform at the Lincoln Centre for three months and if it goes well, they want me to stay for another three..."

 

Louis blinks, moving his hand from Harry's knee to curl around Harry's, tugging it off his thigh. His other hand cups the back of Harry's neck, fingers massaging against the fine hairs there gently.

 

"Then I'm coming with you," Louis states. "I told you. I'll follow you wherever you need to go."

 

Harry shakes his head, eyes flicking over Louis' face to search for a lie.

 

"You can't just quit the team. They need you."

 

"You need me, too," Louis points out with a little tug of his lips. "I hope..."

 

Harry rolls his eyes with a long breath out.

 

"You knew I do," he lifts Louis' hand to kiss the back of it, settling it against his tummy after twining their fingers.

 

He relaxes into Louis' touch against his neck a bit, gently laying his head back and swallowing the lump in his throat.

 

"Is it...would you think about it, then?" Harry wonders.

 

Louis stares at him, licking his lips.

 

"I can't believe you've actually been worrying about this," he muses. "How long have you known?"

 

"A while," Harry twists his lips, tilting his head to appeal to Louis with his big green eyes.

 

Louis' hand is trapped between his neck and the sofa but he doesn't care.

 

"Why didn't you just tell me, babe? I'd follow you anywhere, you know that."

 

Harry's face creases.

 

"Doesn't mean you should, though. Doesn't mean you should _have_ to."

 

Louis leans over and kisses him, gently.

 

"I'm not doing long-distance. Unless you don't want me to go with you of course, then-"

 

"I do," Harry presses a kiss into his lips like a promise. "I want you there with me."

 

Louis lets out a relieved breath.

 

"Then I'll talk to the Boss and I'll see if he's got any contacts in New York," he suggests. "Might be a small league over there who'll have me."

 

Harry smirks.

 

"They'd be lucky to have a player like you."

 

Louis purses his lips against a smile, eyes sparkling as they meet Harry's. His smile fades as his gaze intensifies.

 

"I want everything with you, you know," he decides to say.

 

Harry looks surprised by the confession, twisting a bit.

 

They resettle themselves.

 

"You do?" Harry asks cautiously.

 

Louis's eyes flick around the room and land on Harry's resolutely, his lip tugged between his teeth.

 

"Yeah, I do."

 

Harry frowns a bit.

 

" _Everything_?" He checks.

 

Louis shifts up so he can dangle his legs over Harry's thigh curling into his arms as they come around him.

 

"Everything," he nods. "Sex, marriage, babies..."

 

"Babies?" Harry awes, face slackening from its previous frown as his lips part.

 

Louis giggles and kisses his cheek.

 

"Yeah, babies," he assures. "What about you?"

 

Harry's looking at him like he's a particularly dumb idiot.

 

"Louis I'd have babies with you tomorrow," he breathes, "I didn't even-"

 

He doesn't finish his thought, instead kissing Louis with the same hunger he always does; Louis kissing him equally feverishly back.

 

"I didn't even know," Harry finishes, eyes alight with something like hope.

 

"Obviously we're both far too young to become fathers tomorrow," he muses.

 

Harry pouts.

 

"You can't promise me babies and then snatch them away."

 

Louis laughs, kissing Harry's mouth until he gives in.

 

"If I had known your obsession with children I might have mentioned them later down the line..."

 

Harry smiles anyway; cheeks pink.

 

"Lou, did I ever thank you?"

 

Louis makes a face.

 

"What for?"

 

"For saving me," he says seriously, eyes flicking between Louis'.

 

Louis shakes his head.

 

"You didn't need me, you were doing perfectly fine on you own..."

 

Harry's shaking his head before Louis' even got his words out.

 

"That day...the day you bumped into me...you reminded me what it felt like to be cared about," he describes, eyes flicking from his lap to Louis' face. "You remind me what it feels like to be loved."

 

Louis finds a grin plastering his face as he leans in to kiss him; their lips clinging meaningfully together.

 

"Will you marry me?" Louis asks, rubbing his lips together nervously as Harry's eyes focus on him sharply, semi-suspicious.

 

"What?"

 

"You know," Louis shrugs. "Get engaged, betroth yourself to me and then marry me one day when we're old enough to have these babies you love so much..."

 

"Betroth..." Harry echoes quietly, pulling Louis into a tight hug as he chokes out a disbelieved breath. "Lou!"

 

"An answer might be nice anytime now," Louis complains over his shoulder.

 

"Yes!" Harry responds immediately. "Lou, of course, _yes_..."

 

They kiss for hours that night; legs tangling together in bed and bodies warming up slowly; nothing heated about their embraces, just pure. soft love.

 

"I love you, Lou," Harry's quiet words are kissed into Louis' hair when they finally stop kissing long enough to sleep.

 

"Love you, too," Louis murmurs back


End file.
